


When Stars Fall

by beyondthesea1 (bunchofgrapes)



Category: Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 17:38:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1991838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunchofgrapes/pseuds/beyondthesea1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harriman Nelson has carried the weight of the world on his shoulders many times in his long career. But what happens when the burden becomes too much for one man to bear?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. MONDAY EVENING

**Author's Note:**

> This was previously posted to Uncharted Waters back in 2000. It introduces the OC, Kate Manning, and follows “Lightning Strikes Twice”, which can be found on fan fiction dot net. It helps to read that fic first as it establishes the relationship between Nelson and Kate.

Admiral Harriman Nelson accompanied Commander Lee Crane across the gangplank, up the fifty-two stone steps and across the long ramp to the open air above. With the exception of the several security officers and a handful of maintenance engineers, they were the last two off the boat.

“Do you want a lift home?” Crane asked once they reached the red convertible parked in the reserved space.

Nelson looked up at the clear, star-filled sky, delaying his answer as if Crane had asked some great ponderous question and he had to weigh the answer carefully. Finally, he replied, “No, I’m going to stop by the office for a while. There are a few things I need to clear up.” 

“Want me to drop you at the building then?”

Nelson knew what the younger man was doing, what he would do if the circumstances were different: worrying about a friend’s welfare. Still, he couldn’t shake the despair that seemed to engulf him. “Thanks all the same but it’s a nice night. I think I’ll walk.”

Still watching Nelson closely: “Are you all right?” 

With a fixed, solemn gaze, Nelson nodded. No matter how hard he tried to conceal it, exhaustion, both physical and emotional, tugged at him, settling heavily on his shoulders and pulling him down. It had been a long and strenuous week for the entire crew but no one had had a more arduous time than he had. 

Lee knew it was purely a perfunctory nod. Tensions had been higher than usual aboard _Seaview_ with every man feeling the strain of an Admiral pushed well beyond his limits. It had taken every ounce of Nelson’s fortitude and ingenuity to overcome the crisis and in the end, when the fate of the world had once again rested precariously on his overworked shoulders, he had somehow managed to save the day. But not without tragic results. 

Stopping in front of his car, Crane spoke candidly: “Look, you’ve got to stop beating yourself up over this. You did what you had to do. You were sent to stop Banter, to destroy those missiles before they destroyed the world and you did that. What happened was a tragic but we both know it was unavoidable. It’s a miracle that casualties were minimal. It could have been much worse.” Seeing the remorse in Nelson’s eyes, he silently chastised himself for speaking so sharply. 

_An unavoidable sacrifice: was it really or is that what I’m telling myself?_ Tucking his hands into his pockets, Nelson’s attention turned to the vast ocean before them. “Who kills one man kills the whole world,” he said quietly. “How many worlds have I killed?”

“What?” Lee asked quickly, hoping to get his friend to open up. The Admiral had been unusually quiet on the return trip home, keeping to his cabin and remaining extremely reticent about the destruction of the underground facility buried in the rocks of the small, nameless island in the Pacific, about the death of Seaman First Class Paul Candler. Lee suspected there was something more troubling the Admiral, something beyond the death of a crewman. If he felt like talking now, there was no way Lee was going to leave.

“Nothing,” Nelson replied with a shake of his head. Drawing a deep breath then slowly exhaling, he turned tired eyes on Lee and deliberately pounded a tight fist against his thigh. He was almost embarrassed to ask his next question. “Do you know anything about him…” he stammered, “about Candler?”

Not meeting the Admiral’s gaze, Lee responded, “Married, no kids. The address lists Montecito so his wife is local.” The Captain stopped short of offering any more information. There was one detail to Candler’s life that the Admiral in his present mood didn’t need to know just yet. It would merely serve to plunge the self-imposed dagger in deeper. “Chip and I will notify her in the morning.”

“No, I’ll go with you. And I want to be the one to tell her. It was my fault. His family needs to know that. I’ll have Angie find out if there’s a clergyman or family who can stay with her. ”

“Admiral, I really don’t think it would be a good idea for you to…” 

“Lee, please,” Nelson interrupted, “let me do it.”

Lee knew very well that the Admiral could make it an order but something in his voice, in his expression, told him this was beyond normal protocol. This was a matter of putting to rest his demons. 

Kicking at a few pieces of loose gravel before taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it: “Admiral, there’s something you need to know before you contact the family.”

He stared into the distance, his gaze fixed on some imaginary point. “Yes?”

He let the words spill quickly, “Paul Candler’s mother is Helen Talbot.” Even in the dark of the night, Lee noticed his reaction: the flinch from some imaginary punch, the tightness set in his jaw, the sudden rigidness in his stance. The dagger was in to the hilt.

An incredulous laugh escaped his lips as he finally brought his gaze to meet Lee’s. “Well, she’s been looking for a reason to skewer me. Now she’s got it.”

“How can she possibly blame you for what happened? Candler volunteered for the mission, he knew the risk, he knew what was involved.” Lee immediately regretted the tone of his response but not the words. “You had enough problems trying to shut down the facility in time. You couldn’t have known what would happen or how he would have reacted and you can’t be responsible for his actions. You can’t blame yourself for the fact that he froze.”

“That young man died, Lee, and I can’t help but blame myself. I’m supposed to protect lives, not take them.” He said the words angrily, the anger directed at himself and not at the friend who stood before him.

“How can you say that?” he questioned, refusing to back down. “Every man aboard _Seaview_ knows the risk involved.”

“He was scared to death. I should have left him with Kowalski. Clark had more experience…”

“And then you would be lamenting the death of Clark and possibly Kowalski. Clark stayed behind because he is a trained field medic; Candler was not. It was unavoidable, Admiral. Yes, a young man died and yes, we will all mourn the loss but the lives you saved are immeasurable! If you had stopped for Candler, you wouldn’t have been able to set the auto-abort sequence in time. You sacrificed one life, risked your own life, to save a million lives.” Lee understood the guilt the Admiral was feeling but he had to do something to snap the man out of the depression and self-reproach that had plagued him since destroying the facility and the five guided missiles that renegade scientist Neville Banter had used to hold the world at bay. 

Nelson accepted Lee’s words without further discussion. He was too tired to argue.

Softening his tone noticeably: “Look, promise me you’ll wrap things up at a reasonable time and get some rest.” Observing not for the first time the Admiral absently rubbing his left shoulder, Lee added, “You know, we don’t have anything going on for a couple of weeks. Maybe it would be a good time to have that surgery Doc was talking about.”

Caught unaware, the Admiral looked up: “What?”

“Your shoulder. Doc’s been after you for almost four months to see that orthopedic surgeon. Maybe now would be a good time.”

Nelson waved off the suggestion. “It’s fine. Just a little sore.”

_Like hell it is!_ Granted, the pain in his left shoulder was the result of a couple of unrelated gunshot wounds, the last being a scant four months ago, but Lee knew very well he was underplaying his injuries. He had been there when they hauled his unconscious body out of the debris; he had seen the extensive cuts and bruises the crumbling granite had inflicted upon him. Lee knew his friend very well: even if one arm were dangling from its socket, Harriman Nelson would still protest that he was fine. 

For the first time since departing _Seaview_ , Nelson noticed the fatigue and worry lining his captain’s face and knew he was the reason why. “Go on home, Lee. Get some rest. Lord knows you need it.”

A weary grin spread across Crane’s dark features, “I could tell you the same thing.” 

“You already have.”

“Yes, but you’re too stubborn to listen.” Lee fished his pocket for the keys to the red Shelby Cobra and unlocked the car door. “Look, I meant what I said about getting some rest.”

One eyebrow arched quizzically: “Is that an order, Captain?”

“You’re damn right it is!” Crane confirmed with a laugh, catching a flash of a smile from his friend. Climbing inside, he called over his shoulder, “I’ll see you in the morning—not too early though.” 

“Let’s make it 0800.”

“Deal!” he replied enthusiastically, glad for the extra hours of sleep. Backing the car out slowly, Lee offered one last reminder: “Don’t stay too late.”

The Admiral glanced toward the distant building that housed his office: “No, I won’t.” Giving a parting wave and watching the red taillights fade, Nelson started up the hill, cursing himself for not letting Lee drop him at the entrance. Reaching the top, he paused to look out over the complex, to the ocean below, to the sight of his submarine, _Seaview_ , now barely visible in its pen. 

Shooting a wayward glance at the building behind him, he decided he wasn’t in such a hurry to wade through the mountains of waiting paperwork after all. Finding himself alone, he felt suffocated and oppressed, as if the weight of the world rested heavily on his shoulders and its fate depended on his every move. Shift abruptly left or right and it will fall, breaking into a million pieces, taking with it a million lives. A ‘legend’ someone once called him. The thought brought a slanted smirk to his lips. The trouble with being a legend is that you either have to live up to it or you have to live it down. Right now, he felt as though he couldn’t fulfill either.

Wearily, he tossed his hat onto the ground then followed it down, wincing as the movement caused bruised muscles and sore joints to scream in protest. Taking a seat on the dry grass, arms resting on bent knees as he absorbed the serenity of the night, he was a solitary figure on the hill. His hair tousled by the light breeze, Admiral Harriman Nelson looked like a small, lonely boy.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts when she approached that her hand on his shoulder made him jump. Startled, he turned quickly, his posture reflecting a trained but weary defense. Seeing the familiar but alarmed face, he instantly relaxed, letting the spinning in his head subside before scrambling to his feet. “Kate?” It was a question laced with pleasant surprise. 

Her alarm quickly faded, replaced by a look concern. It wasn’t hard to miss the nasty cut and dark bruise on his forehead just over his left eyebrow. “I hope the other guy looks worse.”

He laughed dryly, “The ‘other guy’ was a granite wall. I’d say it came out the winner.”

“But you’re okay?” she asked, searching tired eyes for any sign that spoke otherwise. 

He tried to give her a reassuring smile but a slight grin was all he could manage. “Just a bit of a headache. The stitches come out tomorrow.” 

She looked at him skeptically not believing for a moment that he was as half as well as he pretended to be.

He was bracing himself for more questions but when they didn’t come, when she didn’t press the issue, his relief was obvious. There would be a time when he would want to talk, when he would need to talk. Right now wasn’t that time. Grateful for her unquestioning silence, he leaned forward, planting a soft kiss upon her parted lips. Still staring at her mouth: “What brings you here?” Slowly, he lifted his eyes to hers.

“I was attending a conference in LA when I heard the news on the radio. I thought you might,” she started to say need but thought better of it, “like some company. If you’d rather not though, I’ll...”

“No,” he interrupted, “I’d like the company. How much was on the news?”

“Enough to know what happened,” she replied, cringing at the obvious pain her answer caused him. “You knew Neville Banter, didn’t you?”

He stared at the ground, stubbing the toe of his polished black shoe into the grass. “I thought I did.” He grew silent for a long time, remembering Banter as he had been a few years before, when the two had worked closely as scientists, as friends. Closing his eyes, he slowly rubbed his temple, the area that seemed to be the center of the pain in his head. “How long have you been here?” he asked finally.

“A couple of hours at the most.” Kate eyed him with quiet concern as she continued, “Angie and I have been catching up.”

He opened his eyes, conveying a slightly incredulous look. “I can’t imagine about what.”

“You,” she answered with a sly grin. “When you really want to know about someone, ask the secretary. She has all the secrets.”

“I’ll remember that.” His slightly amused attitude rapidly degenerated, replaced by a clouded reticence. “I really am glad you’re here,” he offered at last in a voice barely above a whisper. 

After hearing the initial news reports, she really wasn’t sure if he’d be receptive to having her around. Instead, he sounded almost relieved, as if he needed support that only she could provide.

“How long can you stay?”

She could see the furrows in his brow, the openly discordant look. There was something unspoken but profoundly urgent in his request. Harriman Nelson would never ask for help but this was as close to an appeal as he would ever come. “Until you kick me out,” a coy smile played at the corners of her mouth, “or next Monday, whichever comes first.”

Slipping his hand around her waist, he drew her close, drawing solace from the warmth and elemental strength of her. “Thanks,” he replied, kissing her cheek and remaining close. “I’ve missed you.”

At first she thought she had misunderstood him but the intensity of his embrace told her she hadn’t. Touched by his unexpected honesty, she was lost for words.

They remained in silence, locked in an embrace until at last he pulled away and stiffly reached down for his hat. Taking her hand, he led her across the grass common and down the long drive to the main administration building. As he held the door for her to pass, he marveled at her timing. If ever he needed her company, it was now.

**~oOo~**

They were alone in his office: Kate perched comfortably on the upholstered sofa leafing idly through a conference handout while he sat in the big leather chair behind his desk, lost in the thick documentation of an urgent proposal. Deciding she’d read just about enough on the value in using the mode-locking technique to generate ultra-short pulses in lasers, she silently took in her surroundings.

It was an immense office made to seem much smaller by the drawings and papers littering the desk, spilling onto any surrounding surface. Although she knew he would argue the importance of each and every scrap of paper, it was beyond her comprehension how one man could accumulate so much clutter. Passing over the mass of equipment concentrated in one corner, her eyes lit on several eight by ten photos mounted smartly on the rich walnut paneling. Several she recognized but two caught her eye. 

The first was the picture of a handsome, young lieutenant commander standing proudly on the deck of his first submarine, sun glinting off the reddish-gold in his hair, his expression so set and serious yet his eyes betraying the idealistic courage of youth. The second showed the same proud officer, now a one-star admiral, face still handsome but exhibiting the weathered signs of age, the reddish-gold in his hair replaced by a reddish-brown but the eyes still reflecting the same idealistic courage that now came not with youth but with experience. She let her gaze drift naturally from the pictures to the flesh and blood man sitting before her. 

With the exception of the dark circles that would soon vanish with sleep and the hideous cut and bruise over his left eye that would certainly heal with time, he hadn’t changed much in the few years since the last picture had been taken. But something was missing; something she couldn’t quite place, something that should have been apparent yet was frustratingly indiscernible. Watching him closely, smiling when he casually glanced her way, she was determined to let it go. It would come to her eventually.

Settling in comfortably on the sofa, watching as he tapped the end of his pen against his bottom lip while idly stroking the hair over his left ear, she cursed herself for falling so easily under his spell. She knew it had never been intentional, the inexplicable hold he had over her, but she was defenseless against it. It was a sexual power certainly but not entirely. There was no denying she adored that he brought the same passion, the same intensity to the bedroom that he brought to his work but that wasn’t the only allure. He was an enigma, so impossibly obscure and yet, so perfectly translucent, only allowing others to see what he wanted them to see. She was well aware of his ruse, of the more obvious qualities that he exposed for the sake of hiding something much more private, much more impenetrable. He was a perplexing man in constant flux, mercurial and dynamic, never predictable. He was like no one she had ever met before, like no one she would ever meet again. 

She had determined long ago that falling in love with Harry Nelson wasn’t the wisest thing she had ever done but she was in far too deep to simply walk away now. And if time with Harry meant nothing more than a few fleeting days with him now and again, she would accept it gratefully, like a starving dog thrown a few wayward scraps. She had never really contemplated what a normal life might be like without him, what it might be like to settle down with someone and perhaps start a family. There had even been several occasions when she had managed to date a few younger, more ordinary men but always she found herself drawing comparisons. She knew it was unfair to measure the others against Harry but it was inevitable. He was a brilliantly burning light to their flickering candles. 

She spent more time than she realized watching him, lost in contemplation until her thoughts became her dreams. 

“Kate.”

She opened her eyes to find him kneeling beside her. “Is it morning already?”

“Not yet.” He had loosened his tie, unfastened the top button of his shirt and was showing the beginnings of reddish stubble along his chin. “It’s a quarter ‘til midnight. I’m going to be a little while longer so why don’t you go on to the house.” He held out the key. 

She tried unsuccessfully to stifle an extensive yawn. “I’m awake.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Come on.” He climbed to his feet then pulled her up with a strong hand. “Will you be all right to drive? I can call the motor pool and have…”

“Harry, I’m fine. Unless you moved and neglected to tell me, it’s not even a mile away.”

Leading her through the office: “Well, I didn’t move but I did neglect to give you the code to get through the gate.” It had been such a long time since he had actually been home he had to tax his memory to recall the 5-digit code that permitted entrance into the gated community that housed most of the Institute personnel.

“A gate? I thought you used to have a guard station?”

“We did but it was more cost effective to go with the gates.”

He walked her to her car, casting a wary look towards the main gate. “Kate, if you notice anything out of the ordinary, any car that seems to be following you too closely, I want you to come straight back here.”

She slid into the driver’s seat, “You don’t think there’s any danger, do you?”

“I don’t know. Once the press figure out I’m back…” He ran a hand through his hair and let out a long sigh. “Every time I do something, I seem to make a whole new set of enemies. I’d prefer to keep your connection to me as quiet as possible for now.”

He gave her a parting kiss, grunting when she told him not to stay too late, then slowly strolled back to his office.

**~oOo~**

Head resting against the high back of his chair, fingers slowly massaging the ache in his shoulder, he really wasn’t sure why he didn’t go with her. Already he had spent a considerable amount of time doing nothing more than staring at small print, charts and diagrams. With what he had actually accomplished, the pages might as well have been blank. He just couldn’t seem to concentrate. Each time he tried to read over the documents, he found himself thinking back over the events of the last week, taxing an overworked mind to remember every detail of something shrouded in a thick mass of clouds, questioning his actions for any uncertainties.

He leaned forward in the chair, elbows resting on the desk, hands supporting his forehead as he closed his eyes. He was a scientist. His life’s dream was to do nothing more than explore the depths of the oceans. So how did it come to be that he was the man they called when the world was in danger? 

He was so tired of it all: death, the threat of destruction and the persistent scrutiny that followed, the uncompromising demands: the continuous pressure. Normally, he seemed to thrive on pressure and the danger that almost invariably accompanied it. But not lately. Lately, he had actually wondered what it might be like to disappear, to change his name and melt into the background as just another face in the crowd. 

Slowly extracting himself from the chair, he stretched tired, sore back muscles then rubbed the back of his neck. He couldn’t recall ever feeling so mentally drained, so physically exhausted. If it weren’t for Kate and the comforting thought that he wouldn’t be alone tonight, he would have slept on the sofa.

**~oOo~**

He had parked the car by the curb in front of the modest bungalow but instead of rushing inside to the welcoming warmth of Kate and the comfort of something more substantial than a three by six bunk, he wandered around to the back, familiarity guiding his way in the darkness. Nearly an hour later, he slipped inside the patio door.

He undressed quietly in the dark of the bedroom, hunting unsuccessfully for the top to his pajamas. Not intending to disturb her slumber, he tried to slide into bed with as little motion as possible. Settling in under the warm covers, his arm tucked behind his head, he wasn’t really surprised to feel Kate stir then roll onto her side, her hand reaching out to touch the warmth of his skin. She was as light a sleeper as he was. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispered, realizing at once why he couldn’t seem to locate the top to his pajamas.

Glancing past him to the clock on the nightstand by his side of the bed, she noted the time: 2:04am. “You didn’t. I was just resting my eyes.” Snuggling close to him, she could smell the salt air in his hair, on his skin and knew he had been down to the beach. She had learned long ago that whenever he was truly troubled, he always went to the place he knew the best: the ocean. She had also learned long ago not to push him, to be patient with him. Harriman Nelson couldn’t be cajoled or coerced; he would come around when he was ready and not before.

He didn’t say anymore and she didn’t encourage him. Instead, he put his arm around her and held her tightly, as if he were completely drained of substance and needed to draw new strength from her. Almost instantly, his body relaxed and he was lost in the soft, steady breathing of slumber.

**~oOo~**

_Darkness, the lonely echo of a howling wind and the acrid stench of death._  
Solitary footsteps on damp granite and perspiration from bone-numbing fear.  
Descending further into black, pausing to look for signs, the overwhelming fetidness of stale air.  
An expansive cavern that must be explored, an open pit.  
Curiously, inquisitively, gazing down to see  
The decaying flesh of civilization beckoning, repeating the name of one man.  
Reaching out, offering to help,  
Accusing eyes, shattered limbs, so much blood.  
A thousand violent cries for help  
In the shadows a familiar face, a desperate plea: Don’t let me die. Please, don’t let me die.  
Icy fingers unraveling like rope, searching, seizing, suffocating…

“No!” he shouted, bolting upright and blindly launching a tightly rolled fist at the imaginary demons surrounding him.

Kate recoiled quickly, narrowly avoiding an errant swing, plunging safely to the other side of the bed. “Harry?” She didn’t have to guess what happened; he’d had nightmares before that made him call out in his sleep. But this was the first time one had ever turned violent.

Appearing disoriented, he turned his head sharply at the sound of his name, quickly squeezing his eyes shut as the motion sent a stab of pain into his left temple. 

By the sliver of light that filtered through drawn curtains, she could just see the film of perspiration that glistened on his skin that dampened his hair and trickled off his cheek. She saw his hand tremble as he slowly brought it to his head, carefully avoiding the lingering soreness and stitches above his left eye. 

He swallowed hard, as if forcing some kind of rancid bile back to the pit from which it came, then slowly sank back against the pillows as realization gradually returned. “I didn’t hurt you did I?” he asked in a voice heavy with guilt.

Maintaining a wary distance, “No, luckily I saw it coming.”

Anguish lined the creases of his forehead as he pounded his fist against the bed. “Thank God.” He, as well as Kate, knew what could have transpired. If he had hit her, he could have seriously hurt her. The thought that he had even tried made him sick to his stomach. “I’m sorry.”

Still feeling the occasional tremor course through her, she couldn’t deny that he had frightened her. But seeing the devastating effect it had on him somehow made her forget her own apprehension. Cautiously, she edged closer to him.

It took him almost an hour to close his mind, to isolate the dark visions and sequester them in their own secluded place. A short time later he fell into a shallow, restless sleep.


	2. TUESDAY

Sunlight lasered through slightly parted curtains, assaulting him with annoying persistence until at last he surrendered any further pretense of sleep. He shifted gingerly, feeling protests from every bone and muscle in his body as he propped himself up, then lay unmoving as the events of the previous night ran through his mind.

She crept lightly into the room carrying a full tray, noticing that he was finally awake. Trying not to let her alarm register as she noticed for the first time the cuts and contusions that covered his torso, it was painfully apparent that whatever happened was much worse than he was letting on.

“I thought I’d do something domestic like make breakfast.” Seeing him squint against the bright incoming rays: “I have to remember you aren’t accustomed to waking up to sunlight like the rest of us mortals.” Setting the tray on the dresser while adjusting the curtains, she sidled up next to him on the bed. “You’re still thinking about last night aren’t you?” 

His eyes shifted to hers conveying a range of emotion in one weary look.

“Harry, don’t dwell on it. There was no harm done. It’s over.”

Shaking his head, “I can’t help but dwell on it.” Again, the potential consequences of his actions ran through his head, churning his stomach. In a low, dispirited voice, “I could have really hurt you.” 

“But you didn’t.” It was apparent he was still castigating himself; she wasn’t about to add to his self-recrimination. “You had a nightmare and it upset you. Just let it go.” 

He studied her face intently, finding only sincerity in her eyes. “You’re probably right,” he conceded with a resigned sigh. 

Seeing the fixed disquieted look and trying for a touch of levity, she lit into a bright, almost arrogant smile. “Of course I’m right!” Then remembering the tray, “Hey, breakfast is getting cold!”

**~oOo~**

The main gate to the Institute was crowded with cameramen and reporters when he pulled up. Before he could pass, several had taken up a position in front of his car, effectively blocking his entrance. Two security men started out of their booths, prepared if necessary to clear a path however it soon became apparent that two men plus the Admiral would not be enough to clear the crowd.

Resolved to the inevitable fate of being thrown to the voracious wolves, Nelson emerged from the car. Immediately, voices surrounded him. Hurling questions in rapid succession, they were relentless. He had to tell them something. To ignore them would only make matters worse. 

A television reporter with a cameraman in tow pressed forward, the outstretched microphone hitting him in the chin. “Admiral Nelson, Cheryl Danvers, KSBC. Isn’t it true that Neville Banter was once your mentor and teacher at the Naval Academy and that he was once a colleague at this Institute until you fired him after a disagreement over Chemical H2?”

Pushing away the microphone, “I have no comment at this time,” he replied in a tightly controlled voice as he fought his way towards the gate. 

Another reporter grabbed his arm abruptly and turned him towards another camera. “Admiral Nelson, you were called by the President himself to stop Banter. Do you believe your involvement was directly related to the fact that you and Banter were actively involved in the development of Chemical H2? Do you feel that you were responsible for what happened?”

Nelson glared at the man. He was about as close as he had ever been to losing his temper in a public forum. 

Lee Crane, watching the proceedings from inside his car as he pulled up to the gate, saw the look that crossed the Admiral’s face and knew now was the time to intervene. Normally, he wouldn’t consider stepping in but this time the Admiral was surrounded without a chance of escape.

A firm hand on his elbow and Nelson shot around quickly, fist clenched and ready to strike if necessary, checking himself when he recognized the familiar face.

With the help of reinforcements, Lee successfully hustled the Admiral safely through the main gate. Pausing briefly on the other side, he asked, “Are you okay?” 

Nelson closed his eyes and let out the deep breath he realized he had been holding. His head was pounding again. “I’m fine. I’m not sure what happened though. The walls seemed to be closing in and instinct told me to fight.”

“Well, they didn’t give you much of a chance.” Turning to see the crowd still gathered outside the gate: “I should have had Security on alert.” 

“It’s all right. I just should have been more prepared.” 

They arrived at the Admiral’s office a few minutes later. Without so much as a nod in Angie’s direction, Nelson proceeded past his secretary, heading straight for his chair. Taking an abrupt seat, he fished through the desk drawer until he found the spare pack of Viceroys. Tapping the pack against his hand, he ripped away the wrapper and quickly pulled one cigarette free. Bypassing the engraved lighter for the worn book of matches, he struck a single match and immediately lit up, leaning his head against the back of the chair as the first deep inhale of smoke filled his lungs. 

Lee paused in front of Angie Barnes’ desk long enough to answer her unasked question. “The press snagged him at the main gate.”

“I should have warned him. They were already starting to gather when I left here last night. I guess they decided there was a better chance of catching him this morning.” She handed him a manila folder. “Here’s the Candler file. His wife's name is Janice. I got in touch with a Father…” she consulted her notepad, “Timothy McFarlane. He’s at St. Thomas More on San Ysidro Road in Montecito, if you could pick him up on the way.”

“Thanks.” Casting his gaze into the Admiral’s office and seeing nothing but billowing smoke rise above the high-backed chair, he couldn’t decide whether to leave the man alone for a few minutes or remind him of the impending trip to Montecito. Resting a hand on the doorframe: “Admiral,” he called.

Nelson rocked steadily in his chair, his head resting against the smooth leather as he stared at some unseen point on the ceiling. 

Lee called again, “Admiral.”

He turned quickly, appearing slightly discomfited. “Ah, Lee…”

“Sir, are you ready to go?”

Snuffing out the cigarette, he lifted himself out of the chair, picked up his hat then led the way out the door. “Let’s get this over with,” he muttered aloud.

**~oOo~**

Lee slid into the passenger seat while Nelson climbed into the back of the waiting car. As soon as the door closed, the dark Lincoln zipped out the back entrance, away from the prying eyes of the press.

After several furtive glances out the rear window and satisfied that they hadn’t picked up a tail, Lee finally settled into the plush seat but not before a long glimpse in the Admiral’s direction. 

Seeing the fixed, preoccupied look, he was well aware of the thoughts running through the Admiral’s head: he had had to make the same visit many times before. He couldn’t help but think that the seconds before the dark sedan with the official logo on the side pulled up to the curb, before the unsuspecting family heard the news, they had been very happy. He was the Angel of Death there to change their world forever. It was a terrible burden to carry. Whether he was directly at fault or not, Lee couldn’t help but think the family always held him responsible. And why not? He was the Captain; he was responsible for every life on the boat. If one man died, whether as a direct result of his actions or not, he was ultimately responsible. Although this time Lee didn’t carry the burden of the tragedy, he still felt for his friend.

The ride to St. Thomas More took less than an hour. Father Timothy McFarlane, a tall, white haired, ruddy complexioned man in his late fifties, was waiting on the front steps as Captain Crane stepped out of the car. 

“Your secretary called to tell me you were on your way, ” the priest said, reaching for Lee's hand in greeting. 

Escorting the man to the sedan, Lee opened the car door: “Father Timothy, this is Admiral Harriman Nelson.”

Nelson nodded almost hesitantly, “Father, it's good of you to come.” They shook hands briefly as the priest slid in beside him.

As the driver pulled away from the curb, Father Timothy mused aloud: “You know, Paul and Janice were married at St. Thomas More less than a year ago.” Turning his attention to Nelson: “He was so excited about his assignment to _Seaview_ although his mother seemed a bit apprehensive. Still, to serve on board your submarine was the only thing Paul ever talked about. It was truly a dream come true for him.”

Nelson listened to every word with apparent interest but did not respond. What could he say? That his mother was right to be apprehensive? That he, Harriman Nelson, had let that young man die so that he could destroy Neville Banter, shut down the facility and abort the missiles before they destroyed a portion of the world? It sounded good at the time but now he wasn’t so sure. In just a few minutes he would have to explain to a young widow why all her hopes and dreams were gone. And pray that she would forgive him.

He realized too late that the priest had been watching him, studying him with an intense curiosity. Apprehensively, he looked away, watching rows of tall palms as they flashed by like an oversized picket fence.

It was a very short drive from St. Thomas More to the small, detached house at the end of a quiet street. A late model car parked in the narrow driveway told them Mrs. Paul Candler was most likely at home. As the big Lincoln pulled to the curb and the three men stepped out, the thoughts of a serene life suddenly crashing to a halt flashed once again through Lee Crane's mind. 

The Admiral led the way up the sidewalk with Lee and Father Timothy right behind him. With a simple glance, both men instinctively dropped back as Nelson rang the doorbell. 

His heart was pounding in his chest but outwardly he personified calm and cool as the door opened and a very pretty, very surprised young woman appeared. “Mrs. Candler," he said with as much aplomb as he could muster, “I'm Admiral Nelson, this is Captain Lee Crane and…”

At the sight of Father Timothy, Janice Candler broke. She knew why they were there; she didn't have to see the pasty pale look on Nelson's face, his avoidance of her direct gaze or the somber regret in Captain Crane's dark eyes. She knew her Pauly was gone. Letting go of the door handle, she dropped like a stone before any of the men could react.

**~oOo~**

The faces were fuzzy; two were familiar, two were not. Someone held her hand and cooed in a soft voice; Mrs. Kreiner from next door? Yes, she recognized the faint smell of lavender.

“Mrs. Candler, are you all right?” The voice was rich and soothing yet betrayed a deep sense of self-reproach.

Embarrassed, she sat up quickly, her head swimming from the effort. 

A firm but gentle hand on her shoulder urged her back down. 

“Pauly? My Pauly’s dead? That’s why you’re here isn’t it?” Staring straight into Nelson’s eyes, daring him to look away, a flood of tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Yes, Mrs. Candler, that’s why we’re here.” He had removed his hat and now fingered the brim uneasily. “Paul,” he struggled to find the right words, “gave his life so others, millions of others, might live.” 

“Were you with him when he died?” her question was directed at Nelson.

“I was.”

“Did he die quickly? Did he suffer?”

He shook his head and lied. “He didn’t suffer.”

Sitting in the chair nearest to her, Admiral Harriman Nelson began to recount the events, leaving out many of the details for her sake and ending with what a brave man her husband had been. “You should be very proud of Paul,” he said, his hand now on hers. 

The Admiral started to get up then hesitated. “There’s one more thing,” he began, shifting his gaze uneasily from Lee to the priest then back to the young woman. “I want you to know that I hold myself accountable for Paul’s death. It was my duty, my responsibility to see that every man got out of there alive. I let Paul down.” He looked away sharply turning back only when he felt a tight squeeze on his hand.

“Please, don’t blame yourself. I don’t and neither would Paul. You and Seaview were all he talked about.” She choked back tears. “To die the way he did, I know it’s the way he would have wanted.”

His weak, forced smile conveyed his gratitude at her compassion while inwardly, his guilt rushed forward. He had lied and bought her sympathy. Would she have felt the same way if she knew all the facts?

Leaving the young woman in the capable hands of Mrs. Kreiner, Nelson rose, briefly locking eyes with Crane before saying a quiet goodbye. Father Timothy followed the two men out the door and down the front steps. 

Stopping at the side of the car, twirling his hat pensively, Nelson turned to the man, “Thank you for your assistance today, Father.”

“I’m just here for comfort and support. You did the hard part.” 

He looked back the house, looked at his shoes, looked anywhere but at the priest. “And a fine job I did,” he muttered.

“There’s something more, something you didn’t say.” It was a statement not a question made by a man used to helping people shed the heavy burdens of life.

Finally meeting the man’s gaze: “I lied to her.”

“Did you lie or did you neglect to tell her the whole truth?”

“Does it matter? Either way I deceived her.”

“I believe you are a man of integrity. You spared her the pain of the truth. In your heart you did what you thought was right.”

“She’ll find out the truth soon enough and then she won’t be so forgiving.”

“She will forgive you but will you forgive yourself?” He laid a comforting hand on Nelson’s shoulder as he gripped his hand warmly. “I think you’ve got a few demons of your own that need exorcising, Admiral. If ever you’d like to talk, my door is always open.”

He opened the car door and hesitated before getting in. “Thank you. I’ll remember that.”

The man lingered, studying the Admiral in earnest before replying almost as an afterthought: “Please do.” He turned abruptly to Lee. “Nice to meet you Captain Crane.”

“And you too, Father. Thank you again for coming with us.” His glance towards the house did not go unnoticed.

“Not to worry, Captain. I’m sure that Mrs. Kreiner will take good care of her and of course, I’ll help with all the arrangements and see if there’s anything she needs.”

“Are you sure we can’t drop you back at the church?”

“No, thank you. Mr. Kreiner has offered to take me back later this evening.”

“Well, goodbye, then.” Lee slid into the passenger seat and motioned to the driver.

When they finally left the quiet street with its neat, little detached homes, Nelson finally allowed himself to relax. Sitting in the back seat of the large, black sedan, watching the sun flickering through the trees, he felt as if he had aged a lifetime. Harriman Nelson had been a Navy man all his life. He had been in battles, had seen young men die and had to write, visit or phone many a loved one. None, however, had been as hard as that single visit. “I’m getting too old for this,” he said aloud.

**~oOo~**

They arrived back at the Institute the same way they left: through the back entrance. Nelson exited the vehicle quickly while Crane lagged behind.

“Any messages, Angie?” the Admiral asked, coming into the office.

“No sir, it’s been relatively quiet.”

“Relatively?”

“Well, a couple of reporters have been very persistent in their efforts to get information but I’ve managed to stave them off.” She flashed a sly grin.

Grateful for her efficiency and tenacity, Nelson forced an appreciative smile. He would be hard pressed to find another secretary as loyal and dedicated as Angie Barnes.

Turning at the sound of the opening door, he motioned Lee into his office. “Thanks for coming along,” he said once they were in his office.

“We all need a little moral support sometimes.” Hesitating, there was something else Lee wanted to say, something about being grateful for not telling Janice Candler the truth, but seeing the tension still etched on Nelson’s face, he decided to let it go. Instead, he said, “Dinner’s on me tonight, if you’re interested.”

Nelson shook his head. “Thanks, but uh, Kate’s here.”

“Really? Her timing couldn’t be better.” In the time that Lee Crane had known Harriman Nelson, the Admiral had never mentioned Kate Manning or any other woman in his life for that matter. Oh, there had been an allusion to something with Dr. Ellen Bryce but even that only elicited a brief comment or two. 

It wasn’t that the Admiral didn’t like women. Quite to the contrary, he seemed to have great affection for the fairer sex, always at his most charming and most disarming in their company. However, apart from the occasional formal dinner or reception, the man rarely dated. Nor did he appear to be remotely interested in the possibility. So, it came as something of a shock to Lee when he did learn of Kate and her apparent relationship with the Admiral. In the short time he had seen the two together it became quite obvious that there was much more between them than Lee knew. Although a little curious, he would never broach the subject with his commanding officer. Nelson was a very private man who tended to keep his personal affairs to himself however, now that Lee did know about Kate, the Admiral seemed to be a little more forthcoming. Still, Lee knew scarcely more than what he had actually seen.

“She was attending a conference in LA,” Nelson was saying, “and heard the report on the news. She was here when we got in last night.”

The grin betrayed his feigned umbrage: “Well, I understand if you’d rather spend your evening with her instead of me.” 

Nelson couldn’t suppress a light chuckle. “Nothing personal, Lee, but I would prefer something a little more…feminine.” 

Still laughing at the remark: “Please tell Kate I said hello.”

He rubbed his hand along the back of his neck, pulling at the tense muscles. “I will.”

Seeing Lee to the door then slowly shutting it after him, Nelson leaned back, his head resting against the cool walnut, and closed his eyes. Only the annoying buzz of the intercom tore him away from his scattered thoughts.

Opening the door: “Yes, Angie?”

“Sorry to disturb you but Doc wanted me to remind you that you were due at his office at 1200.”

“Damn!” he cursed under his breath then, rubbing his hand across his forehead. “Tell him I’m on my way.”

**~oOo~**

“Tell me, Admiral,” Doc began, his full attention directed at the third stitch on Nelson’s forehead, “have you had any headaches, dizziness or nausea?”

Nelson sat motionless on the examination table, his eyes closed to avoid focusing on the tweezers. “Just the occasional headache.”

The fifth stitch removed, Doc moved to the sixth. “Any trouble sleeping…any nightmares?” The tightening in the Admiral’s jaw might have gone unnoticed by most but it didn’t pass Doc’s watchful eye. 

His first inclination was to brush it off, to say nothing, but for some reason, he felt compelled to mention it. “I had a dream last night that was…a little too vivid.”

Having known Harriman Nelson longer than most of _Seaview’s_ crew, Doctor Will Jamieson was probably more familiar with the Admiral’s reticent tendencies than most. The Admiral would freely discuss matters affecting the crew or in particular, Lee Crane, but when it came to discussing matters of a personal nature, he was a closed book. So, it came as something of a surprise to hear the Admiral’s revelation, as inconsequential as it might have seemed. Obviously, it had upset the man more than he would admit. 

Downplaying the matter, Doc remarked offhandedly, “I’m not surprised with the amount of stress you’ve been under lately.” He removed the last stitch then stepped back to examine his work. “Not a bad job if I do say so,” he said, passing along a mirror for Nelson to see while he cleaned up. “The scar isn’t too bad.”

Running his finger along the new line on his forehead, “It just blends with all the others.”

“You know Admiral,” Doc began, washing his hands thoroughly, “I think the best medicine I could prescribe is for you to take a week off and get away from this place. But since you won’t take a week off and you won’t get away from this place, how about making it a day or two? I understand Kate’s visiting.”

“I won’t even ask how you know about that.” He had already formulated the idea that Doc had spoken to Angie or vice versa and bristled at the thought that half the Institute knew his personal affairs. 

“Well, before you jump to the wrong conclusions,” Doc countered, sensing the abrupt change in mood, “I ran into Kate last night.”

Content to let the incident pass, Nelson slid off the exam table. “A day or two, huh?”

Realizing he’d actually gotten the Admiral’s consideration, he pressed further, “If you could, I really think it would do you a world of good.” 

With one hand on the door, Nelson gave Doc a reflective nod. “I really wish I could.”

Doc regarded the man sadly. He wasn’t blind to the pressures the Admiral carried and the effect they had on him. Doc knew better than anyone else did just what toll the last two weeks had taken on him. He wouldn’t trade places with the man for any price. 

“Oh, one more thing, Admiral. I don’t suppose you’ve given any thought to seeing Doctor Stivers. He’s one of the best orthopedic surgeons around.”

“My shoulder is just fine,” he replied with such exasperated finality that Doc knew better than to pursue the matter again.

“Stubborn,” Doc muttered under his breath as the Admiral exited.

**~oOo~**

Nelson sat at his desk and ran his hand through his hair for the umpteenth time. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t focus on the papers littering his desk. What did it matter anyway? It was all the same thing: urgent requests for his attention, fantastic propositions based on unfounded proof but with the unyielding promise to save mankind and each one more dangerous than the next.

Picking up the paper and seeing the glaring headline, ‘Nelson Saves the Day’, then tossing it aside, he scoffed, “But at what cost?” Letting his thoughts drift to the last mission, he remembered the call that came from the Secretary of Defense. 

“Harry, we need your help,” the man had said. “Neville Banter is threatening to incinerate five major cities the Northern Hemisphere with Chemical H2 if his demands aren’t met. Already he’s made a very alarming demonstration. The heads of State, including the President, are taking his threat very seriously. We need you to stop him.”

_We need your help. We need you._ The words echoed in his head.

Nelson and the crew of the _Seaview_ had done as they were asked. They set a course for the small, uncharted island in the Pacific, Nelson destroyed the missiles, the facility and Banter. In the process a crewman’s life was lost, sacrificed for the sake of the mission. An unavoidable accident, wasn’t that what Lee told him? Wasn’t that what he told himself? He shook the thoughts away.

No one aboard _Seaview_ but Nelson knew Neville Banter. Nelson trusted Banter once, admired him, owed him. They had been friends, colleagues working side by side, and few people outside the Institute knew that Nelson had actually helped Banter develop Chemical H2. It hadn’t started out as such a volatile substance. Conversely, Nelson envisioned the element as a clean burning, environmentally safe gelled hydrogen that would benefit the world, not destroy it. Yes, there was a difference of opinion, a falling out when Banter made unlicensed modifications of his own, but when had Banter’s mind turned and his thoughts become so corrupt? 

Nelson had come face to face with Banter at the facility but the man who had stood so brazenly before him bared no resemblance to the friend he once knew. Instantly, the single thought had occurred to Nelson: if psychosis had a picture, then Neville Banter was certainly it. 

Pushing the chair away from the desk, he slowly stood. There was nothing else he could do here today, nothing that could keep him from focusing on the past. He needed a diversion. He was going home.

**~oOo~**

Angie looked up from her typing, startled to see the Admiral emerge from his office, jacket on but unfastened, briefcase in hand. “Going home, sir?” It wasn’t often Admiral Nelson left the office before her.

Resting the briefcase on the credenza as he began fastening the buttons of his jacket, “I think so. What does my calendar look like tomorrow?”

“You’ve got a meeting with your senior officers at 0900 and you’re debriefing the Secretary at 1100.”

His consternation was unforced, a reaction to his preoccupation, to forgetting a very important meeting. “Has everything been arranged with his office?”

“Yes sir. You’re all set for the video teleconferencing.”

“Thank you. Anything else?”

“You have a couple of meetings in the afternoon but nothing that couldn’t be rearranged.” She caught his frown and thought for a moment she had spoken out of turn.

“I think I’m surrounded by conspirators,” he replied with a faint smile.

“Excuse me?”

He fastened the last button and set his hat firmly on his head. “Nothing. Isn’t it time you went home?”

“I’m just finishing up.”

With a deep, resigned sigh, “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Goodnight sir.”

**~oOo~**

He drove home with the top down, a beautiful autumn sunset decorating the western sky in blazing colors of red, orange and yellow as he headed along the winding road that ran parallel to the Santa Barbara coastline. Rolling to a halt at the 4-way stop sign just minutes from his house, he let the car sit idling.

It was there within him, the overwhelming urge to turn the wheel abruptly and light out on Highway 101 then head east across the desert and keep driving all the way to the Gulf of Mexico. Texas, Louisiana, the Mississippi Delta, there had to be someplace where no one read the papers, where no one cared about small Pacific islands, Neville Banter, or Chemical H2. Surely places existed where no one would recognize him, where he could walk down a city street and lose himself and simply be Harry Nelson. The thought brought a smile to his lips. 

The loud honk of an impatient motorist brought him back, taking away his momentary reverie. He went straight through the stop sign, traveling the short distance to the security gates and punching in his code. As the heavy, iron gates slowly opened, he cursed himself for adhering to his conscience, to his sense of duty and responsibility. 

Entering his house, seeing Kate emerge from the study, he felt a sudden twinge of guilt that quickly turned to anger. He was angry with himself, angry that he could even entertain the idea of turning tail and running. 

“Harry?”

“What?” He realized she had probably been talking and he hadn’t heard a word.

She let his inattentiveness pass without comment. “I was saying that I saw the little impromptu press conference on the news this morning.”

“It didn’t go very well.” He tossed his hat aside and peeled off his jacket.

Judging by the tone of his reply, she let the subject drop. Noticing the absence of the obvious black stitches, she changed direction: “You saw Doc today?” 

He didn’t reply. 

Not deterred by his silence, she persisted, “He did a good job. You can barely see the scar.”

He ran his fingers along his left eyebrow, feeling the ridge of scar tissue just under the skin. “He seems to think I might benefit from a couple of days off.”

Relieved that he was finally talking to her: “And are you going to heed your sage’s advice?”

His voice grew soft, morose, “I wish I could.” 

Recognizing the faraway look that told her he had once again retreated inward, she realized not without a sense of frustration that it was useless to continue. “Why don’t you go change and I’ll see what I can do about dinner?”

He nodded perfunctorily then disappeared into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

**~oOo~**

Given Kate’s limited cooking skills, dinner was a quiet, uncomplicated affair on the patio. A few lighted candles on the redwood table and the soft, dulcet voice of Ella Fitzgerald emanating from the stereo just inside the house complimented the beautiful November night. While she cleared the dishes, he took her advice and settled onto the wide hammock tethered between two Jacaranda trees.

He had recounted over dinner the morning visit to Janice Candler and although she had listened intently, her attention was drawn to the pain in his eyes, to the scar of an infinite hurt that would never go away. She knew she couldn’t make it disappear and it wasn’t her intention to try. But she could get him to relax, to rid him of the tensions of the day, to get his mind as far away as possible from Seaview and the Institute and the press and most importantly, the events of the previous week. After an admittedly rough start, it seemed to be working. 

She emerged from the house, stepping onto the patio and pausing to take in the sight he offered. 

With puffs of cigarette smoke circling in broken clouds above his head and one leg dangling lazily over the side of the hammock, he had acquired an unaccustomed air of lackadaisical complacency. His eyes focused heavenward on some unidentified star just visible through the canopy of branches, he was obviously lost in thought. She almost hated to interrupt the moment.

Coming to his side, lightly touching his shoulder: “Would you like a drink?” 

“No, I’m fine,” he replied, putting out his cigarette then hooking one arm behind his head. Slowly bringing his gaze to hers, he captured her wrist and beckoned her to join him. 

She settled in comfortably beside him, the hammock’s inclination creating a natural intimacy as it gently rocked back and forth. 

Reaching for her hand, he entwined his fingers with hers. It was a simple, silent gesture but enough to let her know he wasn’t ignoring her. He knew what she was trying to do and he appreciated it more than he ever would or ever could say. The depression and guilt that had held him so tightly in its grip was finally beginning to release its hold. He was only really beginning to enjoy the quiet night, to appreciate the clear sky with its millions of twinkling lights, and to welcome the closeness of Kate. 

Allowing himself to reflect further, it occurred to him just what it was that he loved the most about Kate Manning. He could be alone with her lost in his thoughts for hours and hours and she never complained, never crowded him, never made him seek out the solitude he ordinarily craved. He felt a calming contentment when she was near and completely comfortable revealing the normally suppressed emotions he kept buried deep within. He had never met another woman who could elicit such a reaction from him. 

He had been very quiet since she had joined him in the hammock; so quiet that she thought perhaps he had drifted off to sleep. Stealing a furtive glance, she could see the intent look that told her something was occupying his thoughts. He had not been very forthcoming all evening; she hadn’t expected him to be. But something in his demeanor, in the slow, methodical way he stroked her hand with his thumb, told her he was much more relaxed. Whether it was the silky smooth sounds flowing from the stereo, the flawless night, the close proximity of two warm bodies or a combination of all three, she wasn’t sure. She didn’t care. All that was important to her was that he was free of any images, of any reminders that might conjure up memories of the obvious hell he had endured. Content to leave him to his own deliberations, she fixed her gaze on a patch of sky visible through the canopy overhead and taxed her mind to remember the name of the bright star on Orion’s left shoulder.

For however satisfied he felt at that moment another notion pushed into his thoughts, upsetting his serenely calm world. 

Trying to quell his own insecurities, he lightly kissed her forehead before finally breaking his silence to ask the question that had infiltrated his mind: “Kate, have you ever given any thought to maybe settling down and starting a family?” 

“Don’t tell me you’re getting sentimental after all these years?” _What is the name of that star? Betel…Betel…_

“I didn’t mean for me. I meant for you.”

“Is that what you’ve been pondering out here?” _Betelgeuse!_

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“I’ve never thought seriously about it,” she reflected. “A few childhood fantasies perhaps. I wasn’t raised in the traditional family way and didn’t have friends who were either so it never really appealed to me. I guess one doesn’t miss what one never had.” She lifted his hand, pressing her palm against his and idly noting the difference in size. “What about you?” she asked, realizing that he was watching her with curious amusement. “Do you have any regrets?”

He started to say no then stopped. “I suppose I think about it sometimes,” he answered honestly, musing aloud. “I think every man regrets not having a son to carry on his name.” Now he too was noticing how small her hand was, how slender and delicate her fingers were compared to his. “I sometimes regret that I’m probably the last of the Nelson’s.” 

As her palm pressed against his, her fingers interlocking with his, she thought about his question, about what prompted it and about the noticeable regret in his voice. She was certain of his reasons for asking. They had had similar versions of the same conversation many times: he didn’t want her wasting her time with him if a family was what she wanted. But she had been truthful in her response. As a child, she never had the aspirations of other girls. While they busied themselves playing house, she had dreams of shagging flies in centerfield for the Boston Red Sox. As a teen, she had entertained the thought of marriage once or twice; she had even planned every detail of her wedding to Lieutenant Harriman Nelson with her best friend, Carol. But the thought of being a mother never entered her mind. Even now it was a stretch to envision herself in that capacity. Maybe it was the fact that her mother died when she was a baby and her father never remarried or that maternal nurturing was absent from her life. Or maybe it was the fact that the one man she was in love with was a confirmed bachelor. Whatever the reason, she never really gave it a moment’s thought…until now. 

Putting off further deliberation until a time when she could analyze it more completely, a new thought occurred to her: “Since turnabout is fair play, mind if I ask you a question?”

Not knowing quite what to expect, he regarded her warily and with pursed lips, slowly nodded.

“Why don’t you ever talk about your childhood?”

“There’s not that much to say about it,” he replied, shrugging off her question. 

Not to be deterred: “Well then, who was your first kiss?” 

From the sudden smile that graced his lips, she had obviously touched on a fond memory. “My first kiss?” He paused, looking up as he acquired an almost whimsical air. “Her name was Mary Elizabeth O’Shea. I was fifteen. She was two years older, a half step taller and built like…” he held his hands out, starting to emphasize her greatest attributes then caught Kate’s expectant look and stopped, his face flushing pink. Clearing his throat and not meeting her gaze: “She was a very healthy girl.”

She watched him closely, her eyes animated with laughter. 

“And before you ask, yes, she was the first one I…” his voice trailed off as he finished the sentence with a rolling wave of his hand. Continuing with a warm reflective grin: “She certainly taught me a thing or two.”

“Really?” She hadn’t expected to feel jealous but she couldn’t help herself. “Perhaps I should send her a thank you note.” 

“Oh, that would probably not be a good idea.” It was almost impossible to conceal his amusement. “The last I heard, she had gotten the calling and joined a convent in upstate New York.” 

“Fitting,” Kate replied flatly.

He couldn’t suppress the light chuckle as he spoke, “You know, jealousy really doesn’t become you.”

Thankfully, before that jealousy had a chance to manifest itself further, the song changed, sending the moody whine of violin strings into the night air.

“This has always been one of my favorite songs,” she began, closing her eyes and letting the forceful yet sultry voice of Etta James’ as she belted out At Last carry through her. As an afterthought, “I suppose it’s one of those idle fantasies of a young girl but I always thought I would dance to this at my wedding.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Really? I didn’t think you gave much thought to such things.” 

“Maybe once or twice.”

Sliding off the hammock, offering his hand to her: “Well, it’s not your wedding but would you care to dance?”

Regarding him earnestly: “You’re serious?” 

His hand remained extended as he bowed slightly. “Kathleen Manning, would you honor me with this dance?” 

The direct look in his gaze, the formal stance: he was serious. And what was more, she was keeping him waiting. 

“I’d love to.” She took his hand and let him guide her from the hammock to the even surface of the curved, brick patio. 

He maintained his air of formality, taking her right hand in his, palms touching, while her other hand slid over the crest of his shoulder. His left hand rested firmly yet not forcefully in the middle of her back as their dance began. She shared his gaze, returned his slight smile as they melded into perfect, succinct rhythm, the sound of the music still swimming softly in the night air. 

He led her past the pink azaleas, past the tall ornamental grasses and Bird of Paradise that lined the edge of the patio, casually letting his right hand break with hers, letting his fingers brush lightly against her palm then entwine with hers. His left hand wandered, dropping lower on her back, feeling the curve of her hip while her hand lingered at the firmness of his shoulder, at the rigid muscle beneath her fingers then drifted to his shoulder blade. 

He subtly urged her closer, his eyes never leaving hers. Neither exchanged words as they continued their dance, letting instead the increasing intensity of their gaze, the closeness of their bodies speak for them. Neither noticed the music had ended.

He pulled their entwined hands close, turning her hand to him, kissing it softly before releasing it, before sliding his hand along her side until both hands rested low on her hips. Her hand slid slowly, sensually over his shoulder, locking hands gently around his neck. His eyes left hers, focusing on her mouth, on the inviting, slightly parted lips. All but a trace of forward motion had ceased, forgotten by the moment, replaced by a gentle sway, by a feeling of electricity in the closeness of two sensitized bodies. 

Almost imperceptibly, she moistened her lips, readying for his kiss. As they parted, as the light flush warmed her body, she whispered into his ear, “The music stopped.”

His hands slowly slid up her back, tracing the curve of her spine as he nuzzled close to her ear. “That’s no reason for us to stop is it?” He lingered, kissing the soft, sensitive skin of her neck, feeling her subtle response to his actions before edging away. With a softness he rarely exposed, he began to sing something familiar to him, something his mother taught him long ago, something he had never shared with anyone else, as he led their bodies in an orchestrated sway that slowly trickled away to a motionless dance. 

As he sang in quiet, melodic tones, she couldn’t suppress the warmth that quickly spread through her. His voice, rich in velvet resonance, washed over her, arousing her as completely as any touch. Her body was beginning to place demands; demands that he had summoned; demands that only he could satisfy.

She studied the blue eyes so set upon hers then realized that he had stopped, that he was as focused on her as she was on him. She tilted her head slightly and sank into his kiss, losing herself in the responses his mouth evoked. 

When they parted he said simply, “You’re beautiful.”

His unexpected candor took her by surprise, making her smile, making her feel modest and yet exhilarated. 

Watching her intently, he inclined his head slightly, not fully understanding her reaction until the single thought ran through his mind: he had never told her that before. Wanting nothing more than to emphasize his words, he kissed her again very gently yet very thoroughly. 

He could feel her hips pressing against him, could feel the resounding warmth of her. He held her impossibly close, certain that she could feel the elemental male reaction her proximity elicited. The whole world with all its innate problems seemed to melt away, replaced by the exhilarated feeling that they were the only two people who mattered, that he held in his arms the most beautiful, vibrant, warm woman imaginable. She was all he needed.

Kate pulled away from him, genuine arousal, undisguised and unfettered, flashing in her eyes as she caught his hand. Impulsively, urgently, “Come with me...”

**~oOo~**

She began unbuttoning his shirt, aware of the heat radiating from his body. He was a man used to having control, used to doing things his own way and yet, he simply stood still, almost mesmerized, and let her peel away the cotton shirt. She ran her hands over his shoulders across his chest before relinquishing herself to him.

She allowed him to undress her, trembling under his hands, feeling anticipation as his lips lightly brushed the bare skin of her breasts then the hollows of her collarbone. For a moment they stood together, holding each other close in the soft, artificial light, reveling in the feeling of flesh against flesh. He led her to the bed and only then did she finish undressing him. 

Uninhibited, Kate focused entirely on the exploration of the strong, male body before her, bringing him to the edge, enticing his senses with the expectation of insurmountable pleasure. Before he could reach the height of his arousal, she stopped, seeking out his mouth and trying desperately to match the fervor she had created.

He pushed her onto her back, following her down, kissing her even more forcefully. He was in control now. She had promised him more, left his body on fire, kept him hovering on the brink and now it was his turn. 

Her fingers wound like tentacles through his reddish-brown hair as he lingered between her thighs, tantalizing her until there was no longer any possibility of coherent thought, enticing her as she had enticed him. He knew she wanted him desperately, craved to have him inside her but he would not oblige her…not yet. Control, even in making love, excited him. 

He continued his assault of sweet, arduous torture, hearing her moan and groan and call his name, feeling her wriggle and arch until at last he knew she could endure no more. Lifting his head, he crept along her body, deftly tracing his own path from the hollows of her inner thighs to the soft skin of her belly, pausing to focus his full attention on the bare flesh of her supple breasts. 

Her breathing was rapid, her thoughts were irrational yet there could be no mistaking the hardness pressing against her, teasing her with anticipation. She caught the feral flash in his eyes before his mouth crashed hungrily against hers. Not breaking the kiss, he moved fractionally, curving his back slightly, aligning his body with hers. Her hips lifted instinctively, welcoming him with eager expectation as he carefully guided himself to her. She savored the sensation of their union and, from the shiver she felt go through him, he did too. For one quiet moment neither moved, choosing instead to bask in the sense that they were one, joined by the forces of nature, as closely united as they could ever be. 

With exceptional patience, he started to move within her, his actions slow, deliberate and calculatingly effective. Her body writhed in response, her nails digging into his shoulder blades. His eyes never left hers as he steadily maintained his cadence. Watching her expression, her reactions, he regaled in the effect he had on her. 

She slid her hands around to his chest, lingering at the feel of taut muscle, hot skin and soft, damp hair, then urged him to move. Maintaining the deep contact that joined them, he rolled onto his back allowing her to straddle him. Entwining her fingers with his, she held his hands tightly as she set the pace. One moving in perfect rhythm while the other relaxed into alternating fast, slow movements, they were sublimely experienced lovers each complimenting the other as if the entire performance had been well rehearsed. 

She increased the tempo and he followed, their breathing quickening, harshly, profoundly. As the pressure within her swelled to unbearable proportions, tangled thoughts ran together, pushed aside by one single purpose. All semblance of a trained elegance was stripped away, replaced by primal instincts, encouraged by the deep, hard strokes so exact, so restrained in the beginning yet now so urgent. Beneath her, she felt the tremble run through his body. He was so close yet so controlled, so taut, that it seemed to cause his whole body to quake. Admittedly, Kate’s experience with other men was rather limited but she had never known the same reaction in any other lover. 

He tried to wait, to see to her gratification before he rode his own crest but despite his gallant efforts, he could not. He made a single, impulsive, guttural noise, harsh and almost primal, as his entire body tensed and suddenly he was gripping her fingers so tightly, the strength of his hands involuntarily hurt her. Kate, still striving to maintain her own fierce cadence as her impending crisis neared, felt the distinct sensation of his potent release, felt his powerful grip slowly relax. A few more involved strokes and she triggered her own, crying out instinctively, making her back arch as she was swept away by the tumultuous pleasure. 

Slowly, as her senses recovered, she was aware of him lying motionless beneath her, eyes still tightly shut, only the heaving rise and fall of his chest betraying any life. She slumped against him, releasing his hands so he could embrace her. As he held her tightly, almost possessively, she could feel his heart still pounding, matching her own. 

He raised his head slightly, brushed away her hair and gently kissed her neck. He wanted to hold her close for an eternity, to reveal all the tremendous affection he felt for her but, as was usually the case, the words escaped him. 

A little reluctantly, she disengaged herself from him, rolling to his side. Her own body still electric with sensation, she gently kissed his shoulder, his cheek, his lips before nestling close to him, her arm lying deliberately across his chest as he idly traced the curve of her shoulder with his fingers. 

Quietly, curiously, he asked, “Why do you have such a devastating effect on me?” 

Her fingers combed the soft, glistening hairs on his chest. “You hate that don’t you?”

“Hate’s a strong word. I just can’t figure out why.” He brought her hand to his lips, lightly kissing the knuckles, then turning it over and kissing the palm before resting it with his on his chest, over his heart.

Sated and suddenly feeling very tired, she closed her eyes. “That scientific mind of yours,” she said drowsily. “Do you have to know how everything works?”

A reflective smile lightened his features. “Evidently, I do.” 

“Well then, I expect in your infinite quest for knowledge, more research will be in order.” She rolled onto her right side, pleasantly surprised when he curled up next to her his arm draping protectively over her. Her hand covering his, she linked her fingers with his.

“Definitely,” he whispered. Closing his eyes and starting to drift, he heard the voice: _Don’t let me die. Please, don’t let me die._ Eyelids fluttered open with jarring alacrity. The demons would not be suppressed.

**~oOo~**

Unquestionably tired yet wide-awake, he watched the clock roll from 1:59am to 2:00am. Although he would never openly admit it, he was afraid to sleep, afraid the nightmares would return as they had every night since the island. Feeling the steady rise and fall of Kate’s chest, he envied her capacity for unencumbered sleep. He couldn’t recall the last time he had enjoyed a full night’s rest.

Staring into the darkness, he tried to squelch the feelings of guilt, to push away the events of the day, of the last few weeks that were suddenly crowding their way back into his head. 

Here he was his arm wrapped around the beautiful woman with whom he had just made love while earlier in the same day he had to tell a young woman that her husband wasn’t coming home again. Was it fair that he should have survived with only a few cuts and bruises? Was that the source of his remorse: that he had lived? 

Carefully extricating his hand from Kate’s, he flexed his fingers against the recurring numbness then brought his hand up to her shoulder. Feeling the cool, smooth skin against his palm, he tried to turn away the dark thoughts and instead focus his mind on the blissful evening, on the memories and musings he had thought were long since buried, on the perfect distraction. Survivor’s guilt, that’s all it was. He had been through it before. It was just a matter of time…

Her sudden shifting momentarily interrupted his thoughts. Softly, “Kate?” 

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?” 

“For tonight.”

Breaking the embrace, she twisted around to face him. “I love you, Harry,” she said simply.

With a faint smile tracing his lips, he closed his eyes and surrendered to the consuming exhaustion. He fell into a shallow slumber, free from the disturbing nightmares but far from peaceful.


	3. WEDNESDAY

She was doing nothing more than making coffee in the kitchen. There shouldn’t have been anything erotic about the activity but the knowledge that she wore nothing under the robe and that the light silk seemed to highlight that fact acted on the very masculine areas of his mind. Whether Kate knew it or not, she had a power over him that no woman had ever wielded. He was just coming to terms with the idea that it was pointless to fight it.

“I can feel you looking at me,” she told him, not turning around.

“Be thankful I’m confining myself to just looking.” He watched her for a few more minutes, admiring the way she moved, the way she seemed to glide gracefully like a cat, and then pushed away from the doorframe. 

Still not turning, she could feel his presence very close to her, could smell the fresh scent of his aftershave. “Would you mind too much if I dropped by the lab today?” She felt him brush away her hair, felt his lips on the nape of her neck. “I’d like to run some parameters for a new…” Her body reacted sharply as his right hand slipped inside her robe, palm gently brushing against her left breast, caressing the supple flesh, lightly stroking the nipple until it hardened beneath his fingertips. Her eyes closed, her body awakening to the sensations: “I thought you were confining yourself to just looking,” she whispered in a voice that betrayed her insouciance.

“You’ve changed my mind,” he answered, letting his hand wander over the soft skin of her belly. 

Trying her damnedest to rebuff his obvious overtures: “Didn’t you say you had a meeting this morning?” His hand strayed lower. Coffee, freshly ground and ready for the percolator, fell into the sink as she sank against him.

“It’s my meeting; they can wait. Besides,” he kissed her neck, acutely aware of the effect she was having on her, then slowly turned her towards him, “it’s not for another hour yet.” Their eyes locked for one brief moment before his mouth claimed hers with an intense hunger. 

His hands roamed liberally over her back, her hips, her buttocks, lustrously smooth silk highlighting every sensuous curve as he pulled her even closer. Pressing her hips to his, the demand became more urgent, more extreme as the extent of his arousal became painfully apparent. 

And then the telephone rang.

Giving the intrusive instrument a withering glare, he came very close to not answering but his sense of duty momentarily claimed precedence over passion. Rapidly composing himself in spite of Kate’s lingering proximity, he picked up the receiver, took one deep breath then growled a curt, “hello.”

“Admiral Nelson,” the voice was succinct, feminine and vaguely familiar, “Helen Talbot.”

The name sent a noticeable jolt of tension through his body. Stress that had been alleviated over the course of the previous evening had suddenly returned.

**~oOo~**

“Good morning, Admiral,” came Angie’s cheery greeting as he entered the office. Impervious to his noticeable dark mood, she gave him a few minutes to settle then with notepad and messages in hand, walked into his office.

He was sitting in his chair, jacket still on, tie still neatly knotted, gently rocking back and forth while pensively pulling at his bottom lip with one hand and nervously tapping the chair arm with the other. His hat lay where he had apparently tossed it upon entry: upside down in the middle of his desk. 

It wasn’t until she handed him his messages that he looked up. “Oh, thank you, Angie.”

“Helen Talbot called here first thing this morning. She said she would call you at home. I take it she found you?”

Leaning back in the chair: “She did.”

For one fleeting moment she actually thought about asking just who exactly this Helen Talbot was but when he began to absentmindedly tap the stack of messages on the desk and stare emptily into space, she knew any attempt at conversation would be pointless. He was already miles away. 

Starting for the door then sensing he might need to be reminded, she hesitated. “Admiral, the meeting is in ten minutes in the main conference room.”

Unaware that he wasn’t alone and startled by her voice, he looked up quickly. “Meeting?” His expression conveyed his confusion.

“The meeting with your senior officers. You had it scheduled for 0900. I can move it to this afternoon if you’d rather?”

He waved off the offer. “No, no, that’s fine.” Getting engaged in the business at hand: “Is everything still a go with the debriefing?”

“Yes, sir. Marge from the OSD called to confirm just a few minutes ago.”

“All right. Thank you.” He nodded and consulted his messages, her signal that he was through conferring and she could go.

Closing the door on her way out, Angie spied Lee Crane waiting in one of the leather chairs. 

Getting to his feet and motioning towards the Admiral’s door: “How is he?” 

“Very preoccupied. His mood is better than yesterday; he just seems distracted. I gather he heard from Helen Talbot this morning. She called here before he got in so evidently she tried him at home.”

“And got him?”

“Apparently so.” She strolled around to her chair but didn’t sit. “Lee, I know she’s on the board but just what is it about this woman that upsets him so much? He’s never really mentioned her but whenever she calls, honestly, he ends up in some kind of shouting match.”

Lee took a deep breath and wondered just how much he could really tell her. “Well, there certainly isn’t any love lost between them. Helen Talbot is…” He stopped suddenly when the door to the Admiral’s office opened and he appeared.

“Oh, Lee, there you are. I just tried to call you.”

“Good morning, Admiral. I thought I’d walk with you to the meeting.”

He eyed Lee skeptically but let it pass. “Well, let’s get going, shall we?”

Casting a resigned glance at Angie, Lee followed the older man out the door. 

“I suppose Angie told you,” he said, once they were alone.

“She only said that Helen Talbot called you this morning.” 

Jutting out his bottom lip, Nelson scowled. “She called to tell me she’s catching the first flight out of National and should be at the Institute around 1700.” They arrived at the conference room. “I expect she’ll want her pound of flesh then.”

Lee put one hand on the door but hesitated before going inside. “How much do you tell her?” 

“Everything. I doubt there’s much she doesn’t already know.”

“How? You haven’t even briefed the Secretary yet and what you told Mrs. Candler wasn’t even the Reader’s Digest version.”

“The Secretary has my preliminary report, which is essentially the same thing I’ll reiterate at the debriefing, and her position entitles her access. I guarantee you, she’s already read it.” 

Lee shook his head and let out a low whistle. 

“I, uh, know what you mean.” His expression was grim as he led the way into the conference room, curtly greeting his senior officers as he took his place at the head of the table.

**~oOo~**

The meeting with _Seaview’s_ senior officer’s progressed uneventfully. Chief Petty Officer Sharkey began the informal proceedings with his report on the status of the crew while _Seaview’s_ doctor, Lt. Commander Jamieson, informed the group that Seaman Kowalski was making wonderful progress and would be back on duty in three weeks, if he obeyed orders. Lt. Commander David Peatty, _Seaview’s_ crack radioman, followed, stating with some elation that communications throughout the boat were in top working order while Lt. Commander gave an update on damage repair progress.

With the officer’s reports completed, Captain Crane took the floor and provided his observations on the successes, failures and areas for improvement following the completed mission. After a drawn-out brainstorming session, Nelson ended the meeting by conveying his thanks for a job well done. The fact that the Admiral seemed distracted and lost in his own thoughts did not go unnoticed by the men. 

The debriefing, which followed the meeting, ran longer than anticipated with the Admiral and Captain Crane answering each exhaustive question in unequivocal detail and acknowledging areas where hindsight might have been beneficial. In the end however, the entire panel, which included the Secretary of Defense as well as several top military strategists, Congressmen and three of the President’s top advisors, lauded the efforts of Nelson, Crane and the crew of _Seaview_.

Recounting events and being thoroughly questioned on his actions left Nelson noticeably rattled and desperate for the closed confines of his office. Not even the President’s “thanks from a grateful nation” message that Angie handed him upon his return did anything to soothe his battered conscience.

Leaving word with Angie to reschedule his afternoon meeting and not to disturb him for any reason, he sifted through a pile of old scientific journals some going as far back as twenty-five years, until he found just the one he wanted. Flipping through the worn pages, he stopped on the full-page color picture of a smiling, round-shouldered balding man and his adoring daughter. _Charles Paul Talbot and daughter, Helen,_ the caption read.

Helen Talbot was a striking young woman then, strong-willed, intelligent with a tenacity that worked well to propel her past the boundaries of a man’s world. Ensign Harriman Nelson had been attracted to her in the way that fire and gasoline should never meet. They were a volatile combination that thankfully, did not last more than a few tempestuous months. They had parted ways at his discretion, amicably, or so he thought. He had heard a few years later that she had married a wealthy industrialist from Pittsburgh but, true to her headstrong ways, refused to bow to conformity and traditionalism and had not taken her husband’s name.

It was nearly six years ago that Rear Admiral Harriman Nelson once again crossed paths with Helen Talbot. Her father’s company had been vying for the same funding that Nelson needed to build Seaview. When the award came to Nelson, her father had been devastated. 

Charles Talbot had counted on the backing, had thrown everything into the anticipated award and now denied, was left with nothing to pay his employees, subcontractors and creditors. Forced into forfeiture he lost everything. Four months later he found an idyllic spot overlooking the Potomac River just off the George Washington parkway, took the WWII standard issue Colt .38 from his coat pocket and killed himself. 

Nelson felt an obligation to attend her father’s funeral. He hadn’t intended for events to play out the way they had; he truly felt regret for what happened to Talbot. But on the predictably gray day, just after the mourners began to disperse, Helen Talbot had pointedly sought out Nelson and confronted him openly. She held nothing back, making it very clear that as far as she was concerned, not only was he responsible for the loss of her father’s business but also for his death. Even now her words, spoken with contempt, echoed in his head: _I shall take great pleasure in seeing you fail._

But Harriman Nelson had not failed. Despite her appointment to the independent board that controlled the purse strings for _Seaview_ and the Institute, despite using her position to challenge him at every turn, he had succeeded. And her loathing had grown. They consistently disagreed, their discussions often exploding into vehement arguments. More often than not, he won the debate and got his way but in the few instances when he was wrong, she had been a fiercely vocal critic.

It didn’t seem to matter that his scientific genius was unquestioned, that he had saved the world from imminent disaster and purged humanity of countless evils. In her opinion Admiral Harriman Nelson was merely a charlatan masquerading as a scientist, undertaking frivolous exploits at the expense of human lives all under the banner of science. 

And now her son was dead. 

A knock on the door brought him out of his reverie. Quickly, he closed the magazine and shoved it inside his desk. “Come in,” he barked irritably.

Lee appeared at the door and knew in an instant the storm clouds were brewing. Some people could hide their emotions, never let their anger show until they were ready. Harriman Nelson was not one of those people. 

“It’s almost 1600. I thought maybe you might like some moral support.”

Frustration directed at himself, at the circumstances of the past few weeks, of every thing he couldn’t control, manifested itself suddenly. “Look, we’ve been through this already! It was my fault; it’s my responsibility.” He slammed his fist onto the desk. “I can handle it without your help!”

Lee knew it was pointless to argue. Throwing up his hands in resignation: “All right, I’ll leave you to it.” He started for the door.

Immediately regretting his outburst, he called after his friend, “Lee, wait.” He paused long enough to see if Lee would stop. When he did, Nelson continued, “I’m sorry. Please, you’re welcome to stay. I…could use some moral support.” 

The intercom on his desk buzzed loudly. “Yes?”

“Sir, Mrs. Talbot has just arrived at the main gate.”

“Thanks, Angie. Show her in when she arrives.” Taking his finger off the button, Nelson took in a deep breath and slowly released it. For some reason one stanza from Tennyson’s ‘Charge of the Light Brigade’ played over and over in his head: _Theirs was not to make reply, theirs was not to reason why, theirs was but to do and die: Into the valley of death rode the six hundred._

**~oOo~**

“Hello, Harry,” she greeted evenly.

He took her outstretched hand feeling the fine delicate bones under the smooth, cool skin.   
“Helen.” Her gaze never dropped, never faltered. If there was a hint of anything beyond ice in her pale blue eyes, he could not find it. 

Lee stood at Nelson’s side and tried not to let his alarm register. This was the first direct encounter he’d ever had with Helen Talbot and in many ways, he was disappointed. He certainly hadn’t expected fireworks from the very beginning but the obvious degree of familiarity between the two surprised him. Could there be more to this than he was aware?

She was a petite, almost frail creature, not at all like the large, acrimonious woman Lee had visualized, with a faded beauty that indicated she had quite possibly been very attractive in her youth. If he had to guess, he would have put her at roughly the same age as the Admiral although he would have to caveat that estimate by saying he never was very good at guessing women’s ages and he wasn’t really sure how old the Admiral was. 

Talbot moved away, choosing to stand in front of the window rather than accepting his offer to sit. “You know why I’m here.”

“Yes, I do.” He gestured towards Lee. “This is Captain Lee Crane. Lee, Helen Talbot.”

Acknowledging him with a curt nod: “Captain.” She waited a few seconds to see if Crane was leaving then made no protest when it became apparent he wasn’t. 

“Helen, I’m…” Nelson began.

She held up one hand, stopping him abruptly. “Before you say anything, let me speak. I’ve read your report to the Secretary and I want you to know that I hold you directly responsible. Nothing you can say will change my mind. I raised the flag on Banter when he was still at this Institute.” Noticing the surprised look on Crane’s face: “You didn’t know that, Captain? You didn’t know that the great Admiral Harriman Nelson provided Neville Banter with the necessary funding, the facility he needed and a strong defense when the board questioned his motives? 

“I told you I believed he was very unpredictable and that his experiments with Chemical H2 were too risky, the results too unstable but you wouldn’t listen. You never do. You get the thought in your head and come hell or high water, you will not be persuaded. Jesus, Harry, you even went so far as to go to Howard and have me censured on the matter! What was your argument? Oh, yes…that poor Neville was under unusual stress following the death of his wife and that the breakdown in viscosity at higher altitudes posed no significant danger and even so, the benefit to science and mankind from the study would greatly outweigh the risk. Do you still feel the same way now? I’m willing to bet that Howard and the President and the people who lived under the threat of a vaporizing explosion don’t.

“Before you say anything, yes, you came around eventually. When further tests identified compound breakdown of nearly 90%, you did terminate the research and have the components destroyed but you let Banter go. You downplayed his motives, claimed his mistakes weren’t intentional and dismissed him as a harmless, misguided old man. Well, that harmless, misguided old man took his unstable formula, picked up a few scraps of metal and aluminum and made modifications of his own that could potentially have destroyed the world. Tell me, how do you feel about Banter now?”

Nelson stood quietly, hands thrust deep into his pockets, not offering a word in protest or defense, aware that Lee was waiting for some kind of retort. But he couldn’t think of a valid rebuttal. What she said was true: justifying the danger with what he perceived to be the ultimate benefit to mankind, he had ignored the risk. He examined the preliminary data himself and saw the merit in Banter’s claims that Chemical H2 was clean burning, environmentally safe gelled hydrogen. 

What was also true, and what Helen Talbot hadn’t pointed out, was the undeniable fact that Nelson felt he owed Banter and for that reason, he had protected him. Many years ago, Neville Banter had been instrumental in guiding a young midshipman’s own interest in science. And when that man came to Nelson, asking him for help with his project, he had jumped at the chance to repay his mentor. 

“We both know this isn’t the first time that one of your brilliant little scientist friends went over the edge or that an experiment was allowed to go unconstrained. How many men have died in the process? How many others will die? In the name of science and research you are allowed to continue yet how many more idealistic young men are to be sacrificed under this pretense?” Her calm demeanor began to quickly crumble and in a voice heavy with spite: “You sacrificed my son, Harry. What gives you the right to play God? What gives you the right to decide who should live and who should die? It wasn’t your decision. You should have done everything in your power to save him. Paul held you on a pedestal. Did you know that? He idolized you. Did you know that he wanted nothing more in the whole world than to serve with you aboard your submarine? I doubt you did because I doubt you even took the time to know him.” Her voice caught and for one brief moment, she looked away. 

As much as Nelson wanted to escape, to get as far away from his office, the Institute, Santa Barbara and anything else that held the awful memories of his life, he couldn’t. He was riveted to one place, his feet firmly planted on the gold sculptured carpet while inside, his guts churned like an erupting volcano. And yet part of him was becoming very angry—angry with Paul Candler for taxing him with his hero worship. 

Quickly recovering her composure, she continued, “Or was he just another seaman to be sacrificed for God and country? One day the world will recognize that you are merely death masquerading as the self-appointed savior of the world. I have to ask myself: how many lives have been compromised in your ‘quest’ to save the planet? How many mothers are grieving for the loss of their sons because Harriman Nelson proclaimed the loss of a few lives inconsequential to the lives saved in the end? You and your God-complex have got to be stopped and I for one, will not rest until you and your Institute are held accountable!” Her gaze was intense, undeniably accusatory and as cutting as a laser. “I relish the day when you are the victim of your own activities.” 

Lee Crane watched his friend carefully. For one fleeting instant he was certain the Admiral would break. The strain, the pressure: he had obviously reached the end of this limit and was using every ounce of self-control to hold himself together. 

She turned quickly on her heel and with one hand on the door, quietly addressed the Admiral with one last measure of cool aplomb, “This isn’t over by any means, Harry. For Paul and all the others, it isn’t over.” As quickly as it all began, it ended. She left quietly and without adieu, closing the door behind her.

Nelson silently walked around to his chair and almost fell into the soft leather while Lee merely gaped in amazement. He fully expected the man to blow up, to explode with all the pent up anger he had calmly been suppressing. But it never came. And it wouldn’t come. 

Instead, Nelson let out the deep breath he had been holding and brought his sullen gaze briefly to Crane’s before resting his forehead in his hands. 

Lee started to speak, to launch his own protests, but knew he would only be met by silence. The older man was mentally gone, locked away within his own impenetrable shell. Exiting the office in confused and frustrated silence, he left the Admiral to his own deliberations.

**~oOo~**

Paul Candler was scared to death. Simple observation told Nelson that. Even in the diffused light of the vast cavern he could see the obvious fear in the young seaman’s eyes, the tears wetting his cheeks. Candler knew immediately he was being sacrificed but it didn’t prevent him from crying out to the Admiral.

 _Don’t let me die. Please, don’t let me die._

With frightening lucidity, Banter had maintained a tight hold on the young seaman, an unwavering .45 at his head. “This young man is about to find out what Hell is like unless you leave here,” Banter had warned. 

But Nelson hadn’t moved. For the sake of halting the missiles, for the sake of all those lives, Nelson could not call Banter’s bluff. He was absolutely positive that in the split second it took Banter to squeeze the trigger and reload, he could stop the launch before the lunatic would have a chance to aim and fire again. 

Harriman Nelson was left with a brutal decision, one that he didn’t have time to rationalize, one that he knew would haunt with him for the rest of his life. Yes, he could have made a move towards the control panel in spite of Banter but he just couldn’t take the risk. If Banter had shot him in that instant instead of Candler, Banter would have been free to execute his mad plan and no one could stop him. The death and destruction that Chemical H2, even in its compressed form, could cause would have been devastating. Candler didn’t have the knowledge or the expertise to halt the launch. Fortunately, Nelson did and as a result, his orders had been explicit, leaving no room for failure: he had to succeed.

Paul Candler would never understand the hard edge of war that told him some lives…his own life was expendable. Instead, he had merely been a frightened young man trained for operational combat, readied for battle, yet untested. The Navy could teach a man to fight and to kill but it couldn’t predict how that man would react when faced with tangible and imminent danger. Still, Nelson saw the signs. Before they had even approached the facility, he saw the tremble in Candler’s hand, the cold sweat on his face, the panic in his eyes, but he brushed it off. Harriman Nelson didn’t understand that kind of fear: the fear of death. He was blind to the symptoms. 

Pulling at his thoughts, Nelson recalled the words he had told Janice Candler: _he gave his life so that others, millions of others, might live_. It was one of the few truths he had told her. Paul Candler had made the ultimate sacrifice. If only it had been of his own accord. 

_Playing God_. He laughed bitterly at the reality of those words, kicking them around in his head until he felt sick. Helen Talbot was right. He, Admiral Harriman Nelson, had decided Paul Candler’s fate. He knew damn well that Banter would pull the trigger; he was counting on it. And yet he had decided to let a life terminate without so much as a twitch. _Even God shows remorse, doesn’t He?_ Were his senses so dulled by experience and duty that he no longer deemed every life precious? When had he become so arrogant, so cavalier…so blind? His hands balled tightly into fists, he struck the mahogany desk in anger and frustration. 

Father Timothy had no idea of the demons that resided in Harriman Nelson.

**~oOo~**

“Harry, you really need to eat something,” Kate said to him, singling out the pieces of shrimp in her salad. He had hardly touched his food and even in the dim light she could see the dark circles rimming his eyes, the sullen cheeks. She knew that lately he hadn’t been eating much or sleeping well but right now, her real worry was his drinking.

Since they had arrived at the restaurant almost an hour ago, he had been on an obvious mission to get drunk and to her mind, he had completed the task two double whiskeys ago. She knew all too well how unreasonable he could be when he’d had a few drinks too many. True, he could be engaging, rather whimsical and a bit amorous when inebriated, but his moods, often unpredictable when sober, seemed susceptible to dramatic swings when drinking heavily. He didn’t generally get aggressive, but he was quite capable of turning surly. 

Draining the last of his whiskey, he dismissed her question with a wave of his hand. A note of irritation creeping into his rising voice, “must you and Captain Crane constantly question my welfare?” he demanded hotly.

“Apparently so,” she retorted calmly. “You seem to be incapable of undertaking simple tasks.” She could tell from his eyes that talking to him was becoming pointless. He had just finished his fourth double whiskey and was growing increasingly belligerent. It was past time to go. She really wanted to get him out of there before he said something he didn’t mean and she walked out, leaving him to find his own way home. “Come on, I think it’s time to leave.” 

A dark look crossed his face, a look she had never seen before, a look that for the first time in her life made her understand why many people found him intimidating. With words laced in haughtiness, he spoke in a low but forceful voice: “I’ll be the judge of when it’s time to go!” To emphasize his point, he slammed his hand on the table, scattering cutlery and knocking glasses against the fine china.

Her ability to remain patient was being pushed well beyond its limit. “Don’t you dare give me that ‘I’m Admiral Harriman Nelson and I’m invincible’ bullshit!” she snapped. “It might work with your men but it won’t work with me.”

He let out a short, sardonic laugh and absently stroked the back of his head. “That’s me, the invincible Admiral Harriman Nelson, retired Navy Officer, Marine Biologist, alleged humanitarian and,” he waved an unstable hand into the air, “sometimes God.” His mood shifted abruptly as he continued, “You were aware weren’t you that I am the self-appointed savior of the world. It’s incredible really. Men put their unquestioning faith in me and I decide whether they live or die…” his voice trailed off, barely above a whisper, “just like God.” He looked at her through red, watery eyes, challenging her to dispute him. 

Absorbing the depth of his words, even in his present unstable condition, it was impossible for her to meet his challenge. In one incongruous bout of drunkenness he had exposed the termites gnawing at his foundation: he was struggling under the weight of responsibility and right now, the weight was winning. 

Realizing he would get no argument, he slowly stood up, using the table to steady himself. Only then did Kate realize how truly drunk he was. Looking around the restaurant, she was relieved to see that with the exception of a few diehards at the bar, the place was very nearly empty. Harriman Nelson was a widely known, highly regarded and well-respected man. Making a drunken spectacle of himself, whatever the reason, would be reprehensible.

“Is the Admiral all right?”

Kate was startled by the presence of the tall, dapper man. “He will be.” 

Nelson watched the proceedings through weary eyes. 

The man smiled—not a condescending smile but a warm, comforting smile. “I’m John Fahey, the owner. The Admiral and I are old friends. If you’d like, I can have your car brought around to the side. It’s a little more…discreet.”

“What about the check? I need to...”

The man dismissed her request, “Don’t worry about it. Just be a good friend to him. He looks like he needs it.”

Kate nodded thoughtfully, “Thank you so much.”

“My pleasure.”


	4. THURSDAY

He awoke gradually, faintly aware of a hissing in his ears, a dull ache in his temples and an unpleasant feeling he would later describe as mice nesting in his mouth. He stared blankly at the ceiling, attuned to the fact that he was sprawled across his bed, sans jacket, shoes and tie yet still wearing the dark trousers and khaki shirt of his winter uniform. He started to rise but vehement protests in his head precluded any notion he might have had, sending him instantly back against the pillows. He closed his eyes and tried to remember the events of last night. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, he could recall very little after the restaurant. But he did remember Kate. _God, was I such an idiot that she left?_ Glancing around the room, he found no sign of her. The bed, other than where he lay, was quite cold. 

Swinging his feet around a little too quickly, he very nearly made himself sick. Closing his eyes to the rising nausea, to the sound of blood pulsing loudly in his head, he didn’t hear Kate’s soft footsteps as she padded into the bedroom carrying a small tray complete with hot, black coffee, four aspirins, buttered toast and an ice pack. 

Slowly opening his eyes, he looked up and smiled, his face awash with relief. “I thought you’d gone.”

“Don’t think the thought didn’t cross my mind.” She fluffed the pillows then navigated him back onto the bed. His hair was in complete disarray, eyes were red and swollen and he was as pale as death. Setting the tray down and handing him the coffee, she regarded him fastidiously, “You are a sight to behold, my dear.”

Grunting as he accepted the cup: “I hope I didn’t make too much of an ass out of myself last night.”

“No, John and I managed to get you out of the restaurant before you started spouting Melville.” She handed him the plate of toast. 

Taking a sip of the black liquid then glancing up: “Melville, huh?” It did conjure a vague memory.

“Yes, in the car on the way home. It was something about plunging into despair. It seemed to fit your mood at the time.”

He closed his eyes, remembering the passage from _The Sermon_ : “I saw the opening maw of hell, With endless pains and sorrows there; Which none but they that feel can tell - Oh, I was plunging to despair.” He bit into the toast. 

_The fire_. That was the something missing that night in his office when she had so laboriously studied the pictures on the wall. The fire in his eyes that lit the intensity, the curiosity, the burning drive—that was what had been missing that night. That was what was missing now.

Kate nudged him over and crawled in beside him. Knowing the last thing he would tolerate was an obvious lecture, she spoke honestly, “You said you were surprised I was still here this morning. Believe me, I had every intention of going back to San Diego today. I’ve never seen you drink like that. I’ve never seen you so downright nasty one minute and then so depressed and defeated the next.” 

He lowered his head and pulled at a loose thread on the bedspread. “I’m sorry. My behavior was inexcusable and irresponsible I know. It won’t happen again.” Revisiting something she said, he looked up at her through bloodshot eyes: “Why did you decide to stay?”

“Because I’m worried about you and worry outweighs anger.”

He rubbed his hand across his forehead. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Someone needs to,” she admonished. “You don’t worry about yourself.” Letting her words settle, her tone softened: “Harry, what happened out there? What’s happened to you?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it.” His face clouded unexpectedly, his dark mood on the brink of return.

Unfazed, she continued cryptically, “You know, when stars fall, they flare briefly and then burn out.”

His patience growing thin, “Am I to assume there’s a reason you’re telling me this?” 

“Your fire is gone. Your inner spark is burned out and you’ve got to find a way to light it again. You’ve faced everything and everyone in your life head-on. I don’t understand why this one incident is any different.”

“You weren’t there; you don’t know what happened!” he snapped.

“No, I don’t know,” she calmly replied, “How can I when you shut yourself off? You’re so sure you can handle this on your own that you shut out everyone close to you.” Exasperated, “Harry, will you please tell me what happened?” 

He stared at her thoughtfully then swallowed the last of the toast, popped all four aspirin then washed them down with lukewarm coffee. He was stalling, purposely avoiding a rebuttal to her question while searching for his own answers. 

_She didn’t leave_. He wouldn’t have blamed her if she had; he fully expected her to. Maybe from some darkened point in his subconscious, he wanted her to go, he wanted to, as she had said, shut out everyone. But if that were the case, why did he feel so damned relieved? _Because you love her, stupid_. She was still with him, willing to forgive what could only have been a stellar performance of inebriated pompousness and wanting nothing more than an explanation. He owed her that much. 

Steeling himself against the inevitable, he set the cup on the nightstand and turned towards her. Slowly, almost unsteadily, he nodded.

**~oOo~**

After a brief call to Angie to say that he would be in much later and a long, rejuvenating shower to clear the cobwebs from his head, he relocated to the living room, settled immediately on the sofa and stretched his legs out on the cushions. It had been such a long time since he had been that drunk he had forgotten how miserable an excess of alcohol could make him feel: he had no energy, the aspirins had done nothing for his headache and he seemed to be consuming the coffee as quickly as Kate could make it.

“What’s this?” he asked, skeptically accepting the tall glass she handed him. 

“It’s water. You’re dehydrated and if you drink any more coffee, I’m going to have to peel you off the ceiling later.”

Nestling in comfortably at the other end of the sofa, her legs stretched to the inside while he balanced on the outside, she said nothing more. Patience was the key and she had an infinite quantity right now. He could take as much time as he needed.

He knew she would want the unabated truth, not the washed out version the press had broadcasted on the evening news, and he had agreed to tell her once he cleaned up. Well, he had showered and shaved and called Angie. He had no more excuses left.

Gathering all his thoughts and putting them into some kind of conveyable order, he started at the beginning, providing background to his association with Neville Banter and rehashing events that she might have already known but aided in his recollection.

“ _Seaview_ got the call just after 1200. We had already been alerted to the area to investigate unusually high radiation levels in the atolls but we traced the source to an old Soviet nuclear sub that had gone down just off Bikar. Anyway, we were told to proceed immediately to the coordinates and a level one security brief would occur on the way.

“The message we got was fairly straightforward: Neville Banter sent a broad list of meaningless demands then provided a sampling of what would happen to Moscow, Tokyo, Beijing, San Francisco and Los Angeles if world leaders didn’t recognize his authority. _Seaview_ wasn’t the closest sub in the area but she had me and I knew Banter and I was fairly certain I knew the means.”

“You said he provided a sampling? What kind of sampling?”

“I thought for sure the press had gotten the story.”

“There was a blurb about an explosion in the Pacific. There could have been more and I just missed it.”

“Banter did a little demo of the power of Chemical H2 by annihilating a little uninhabited island near Wake Island and taking out several Japanese fishing boats in the process. What’s more, and this I know wasn’t in the press, Banter then launched a series of dummy attacks on four countries, including this one, without being intercepted, just to prove he could.” He took a long drink of water then picked up where he left off. “Banter channeled his experiments with Chemical H2 to create his own self-propelled, self-encased hydrogen impact missiles no bigger than a football. As near as we could tell, he had targeted several facilities in the Northern Hemisphere that were located in heavily populated areas and, if hit by one of these little projectiles, would have easily taken out everything in a 45-mile radius.”

“Something that small?”

“Something that small. But what was so frightening is that these little rockets were capable of penetrating any countries’ missile defense system, including ours, virtually undetected. During his dummy attack, our interceptors failed to find acquisition. Yes, it fell harmlessly into the desert but had it been loaded with CH2, one of us wouldn’t be here now.”

Kate felt a chill run through her: he meant her.

“I never doubted that Banter was bluffing and I knew he had the capability to back up his threats. For all of Neville’s faults he was, first and foremost, a brilliant man. In some ways, too brilliant.” 

_A harmless, misguided old man._

She could tell by his set expression that he was remembering something else, something he either couldn’t or wouldn’t share with her.

He didn’t speak of the inner turmoil he had felt at hearing Banter’s name. Deep down, he had suspected that, given the right circumstances, something like this could happen. Of course, there would always be a degree of vulnerability in any field in which a brilliant but errant man had at his fingertips the knowledge and power to create. Neville Banter was such a man. 

Nelson hadn’t seen Banter in some time and all those years alone on that island, isolated from civilization, well, it would be easy for a man to go mad…

Feeling a tremor course through him, he realized he had lost track of his thoughts. 

Seeing him finger the pink scar on his forehead and sensing he was lost, Kate tried to redirect his attention: “There’s something I don’t quite understand. I know Banter was on one of those little islands out in the Pacific but why couldn’t either _Seaview_ or the Air Force just blow the facility out of existence?”

“Several of the Pentagon’s top strategists recommended that very thing,” he replied once again focused and back on track. “It wasn’t as simple as that. Neville may have been insane but he was in control just enough to anticipate every attempt at retaliation. He was always very meticulous that way and devising creative countermeasures was a specialty of his. He knew it would be relatively simple to destroy something planted in one single location so he engineered a way to disperse the missiles on the surrounding islands, control the ignition from one central facility and provide an auto-launch sequence if that facility or any of the other missiles were destroyed first.”

“But couldn’t the Air Force just carpet bomb the area?”

“Possibly but those other islands were populated. However, if I failed that would have been the alternative.”

“So you had to succeed, not only for the sake of the target areas but also for the innocent people who were being used almost as sacrificial lambs.”

“Exactly,” he replied with a finality that filtered into a long bout of silence. A few minutes later he continued, “The key was to abort the firing from the main site before he had a chance to initiate the auto-launch sequence.”

“It’s almost as if he were offering you an invitation to come and get him. Did you ever think of revenge as a motive? I mean, yes, it’s simplistic but he had every reason to hold a grudge against you if he thought you were responsible for pulling his funding and terminating his project.”

_I knew you’d come, Harry, once you saw my invitation._

He brushed away the vision of Banter’s perverted, lop-sided grin and merely nodded his agreement with Kate.

Skimming over the technical details of the reconnaissance and identification of the facility, he picked up the story: “We asked for volunteers and besides Kowalski and Clark, Candler had stepped forward. He was just a kid really, younger, I think, than Riley but in the short time he had been aboard, he had emerged as a natural leader. The trip from Seaview to the beachhead went like clockwork but from there things went downhill rapidly. It didn’t take us long to discern that the whole place was rigged to the hilt. We made it intact to the opening of the cave but were immediately met by a barrage of gunfire.”

“Banter?”

“Well, yes and no: weapons activated by motion. Kowalski was hit bad enough that Clark, as the only trained field medic, would have to stay behind. There wasn’t time to get another party ashore; we only had a short window until Banter’s deadline and we were cutting it close. So, Candler and I continued.”

Slowly and methodically, he began to describe the labyrinth of tunnels carved into the solid rock that went deeper and deeper into the earth until the walls were damp with water. He explained how their senses became highly attuned to any kind of movement and how that awareness saved them more than once from the many pitfalls that waited in the darkness. He told her of the junction where their one single tunnel split into two, where he ordered Candler to scout one passage while he proceeded straight ahead until he eventually came into a great, dimly lit cavern: the heart of Banter’s laboratory.

“Calcite stalactites suspended from the ceiling, stalagmites bursting up from the floor, and great columns covered in flowstone, it was incredible. And sitting in the middle of this room, leaning against a makeshift control panel, was Neville. He held the firing device in one hand, a .45 in the other and without looking up, he asked what took me so long.” A tight, dry laughed escaped his lips but there was no levity conveyed. 

_You lost faith in me, Harry. You listened to the critics and turned your back on me. I have to show you and the rest of the world that I still have what it takes. I’m still someone to be reckoned with._

Sitting on the sofa, nestled safely in his home in Santa Barbara, Harry Nelson flinched, just as he had done when Banter fired a single warning shot and the sound inside the cave had been deafening.

“What’s wrong?” Her hand slipped inside his trouser leg and idly stroked his calf.

He looked up, startled by both the sound of her voice and her fingers against his skin. “Nothing. I was just remembering something.”

“You left off with finding Banter holding firing mechanism and the gun.”

“Did I mention he fired a warning shot at me?” 

“No, you neglected to tell me that part.”

Inching a little lower on the sofa, resting his head against the overstuffed pillows, he patted his breast pocket for cigarettes then scowled when he realized he had left them in the bedroom. “You know, I’ve come face to face with many terrifying men in my life but never have I seen a man so insane he’d lost all ability for rational thought. There was absolutely no way to gauge what he would do next.” 

He closed his eyes and methodically rubbed the back of his neck. When he finally looked up, his eyes were practically slits as he recalled the events: “I could see Candler moving around on a ledge behind Banter so I tried to keep him distracted. For one lucid moment we talked about the old days, when he was teaching at the Academy and I was a midshipman. I had a pretty clear view of the control panel so while he was talking, I tried to scan the layout for the easiest way to kill the system. It was fairly crude but he did have an auto-command sequence that could have posed a big problem. 

“I could see Candler settle into position and scope his shot and mentally, I think I was probably screaming at him to fire. But he couldn’t…or wouldn’t, I’m not sure which. Banter had slipped back again, ranting on and on about how I had betrayed him. Each time I moved, he would take aim so I was resigned to standing stock still and keeping one eye trained on Candler and one eye on that panel. I hadn’t quite worked out the details but I was fairly sure I could shut it down. It was just a matter of disconnecting the primary firing mechanism. 

“Several minutes had passed and my patience was nearing the end. I just couldn’t imagine what was delaying Candler. I looked up there again, expecting to see him in position and instead, he was gone. Well, I nearly panicked. Luckily, he soon came back into view. I can only guess that he lost his footing or slipped on the flowstone. At some point, Candler must have tripped one of the detection wires because a few seconds later a single light began blinking on the control panel and Banter pressed the firing button that triggered the automatic countdown. I had ten minutes to abort firing.” Feeling this was as good a place as any to take a break, he drained his glass and started to get up.

“Stay put; I’ll get it,” she said, already on her feet. Seeing the I-don’t-need-to-be-waited-on look, she gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I want to refill my cup.”

He leaned back against the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. Closing his eyes, he was there, standing before Neville Banter in that poorly lit, dank cavern, the stench of guano, rotting vegetation and sour air filling his nostrils. But more importantly, he could hear Banter’s voice, his high, nasally English accent, as clearly as if he were standing in the middle of the living room now.

_Ezekiel connected dem dry bones, I hear the word of the Lord. Disconnect dem bones, dem dry bones, disconnect dem bones, dem dry bones, disconnect dem bones, dem dry bones…_

He had been trying to keep one eye on Banter and the gun and one eye on the slowly rolling numbers while mentally calculating his next move. He was being tested, his tolerance pushed to the limit, unable to keep the maddening, off-key lyrics that Banter continued to chant loudly from permeating his thoughts. 

_I hear the word of the Lord. Dem bones, dem bones, dem dry bones._

Nine minutes before one quarter of the Northern Hemisphere, two major cities on the West Coast of the United States, were obliterated. 

_Your head bone connected to your foot bone. I hear the word of the Lord._

Banter had to have known someone was behind him and yet, his attention never wavered, the song never ceased. It was almost as if the old man was trying to goad Candler into killing him. 

Candler could have at any time fired one single shot at Banter. The young seaman was close enough and had a clear line but even across the room and in near darkness, he could see the look of abject fear on Candler’s face. He made the mistake of shifting his weight, of moving his right hand suddenly and Banter quickly brought the gun up, pointing it with amazing control.

_The neck bone connected to… What, Harry? Nothing. Bang, bang and your head bone is gone. So says the word of the Lord. Tell your friend to come down here NOW._

“Harry, are you okay?”

Startled at the sound of her voice, his eyelids fluttered open. “I’m fine,” he said, accepting the full glass of water and taking a long drink. 

She wedged herself back onto the sofa, careful not to spill her coffee, and tucked her feet under the cushion. “Here,” she tossed him a pack of cigarettes, the matches stuffed inside the cellophane. “I thought you might need these.”

“Thanks.” He slipped the pack inside his shirt pocket then, watching her curiously, asked, “What are you doing?”

“My feet are cold. You left off after Candler tripped one of the detection wires and Banter pressed the firing button.”

Choosing not to replay his previous memories, he fast-forwarded. “Um, let’s see, Candler was moving a bit erratically, no doubt panicked, and the rock ledge he had been standing on gave way, dropping him onto the rock surface about two feet away from Banter. Even if I couldn’t hear the crunch, Candler’s scream would have alerted me that he broke something. Banter started for Paul, I started for Banter but he won. He had Paul by the collar and the gun at his temple. I took a couple of steps forward, if for no other reason than to position myself closer to the control panel, and then stopped when Banter yelled. Candler was in pain and scared to death. Banter racked the slide…”

“Banter what?”

“Racked the slide. It means he loaded a round in the .45. Sorry.” He allowed himself a slight smile at her expense then continued, “He, um, loaded the .45 then dragged Candler back towards me.” He paused, took another long drink of water then set the glass aside, and when he continued, was unexpectedly reflective, “You know, when I first saw this gaunt, disheveled man who had once been my friend, I felt pity for him. But looking into his eyes, seeing nothing but a…a cold void of blackness…I knew it was pointless to feel that way. The man I knew no longer existed. He truly was heartless. I’d hate to think I had something to do with turning him that way.”

She got the distinct feeling something else, some other memory, was crowding its way into his thoughts.

“The entire time Candler was being dragged, he just kept looking at me, pleading with me not to let him die. I think he knew Banter was going to kill him.” He was looking at his hands, paying them much more attention than they deserved. Abruptly, he looked up, locking eyes with Kate. “And so did I.” 

_He’s a wounded animal, Harry. And wounded animals need to be put out of their misery._

“Banter took great pleasure in hearing Candler scream. It was terrible, brutal to have to listen to a man scream in pain like that but it was keeping Banter occupied and allowing me a good look at the firing mechanism. The abort control sequence was relatively crude and simple. It was just a matter of disconnecting the exposed green wire from the firing mechanism to halt the countdown then reprogramming the command to self-destruct. My plan was to explode all five missiles in place and pray I wasn’t sitting on a standby. But what I didn’t have was time. There were less than five minutes left. Once it went into the final minute, there would be no way to shut it down. And if I couldn’t shut it down, it’d be all over. If the US missile defense system couldn’t acquire and intercept then I seriously doubt Seaview could either.” Closing his eyes tightly, he methodically stroked the bridge of his nose. “It all came to play out rather quickly. Banter put the gun to Candler’s head; I could visualize my fingers on that wire, hell, I could almost reach out and grab it. I was standing there, Kate, willing him to pull the trigger because in the split second it would take him to reload, I could pull that wire. He did and I lunged. With one minute and six seconds left, the countdown stopped, Banter fired at me and somehow missed. We fought but he was no match for me so I took him down easily. With Banter now out of the way, I could turn my attention back to the control panel.

“But something had occurred that never even entered my mind. Banter had a fail-safe. He meant to launch those missiles even if his demands were met. The countdown stopped but just as quickly an auxiliary auto-launch sequence began. Not only that but because the countdown had aborted against protocol, the auto-destruct sequence automatically engaged. I can only guess that Neville had every intention of giving me an obvious choice to abort and in doing so, I would unwittingly trigger not only the missile launch but the destruction of the facility.” He let out a short, reflective laugh. “And I carried out his plan to the letter.” He stopped long enough to slip off the sofa. He had stayed in one place for so long, his back started to ache.

Watching him pull, stretch and bend long enough she finally asked, “Would you like me to work the kinks out?”

He brushed away her offer with a wave of his hand then settled again onto the sofa. Sitting on the edge of the seat and leaning forward, he urgently pressed on with the honesty of a deathbed confession. He wanted to tell her everything if only to purge it from his system. “It wasn’t as easy as I had thought it would be to reprogram the missile guidance system to self-destruct. It wasn’t recognizing any of my commands and there wasn’t time to try to decipher the damn thing but I did manage to locate the coordinates of all five missiles.”

“If you now knew the coordinates of the missiles, couldn’t you just radio Seaview and let Lee blow them out of existence?”

“That was my intention but I couldn’t get the radio to work. With all that rock there was just too much interference. And I couldn’t risk trying to find my way back out of the tunnels. There were booby traps all over the place and if something happened to me, well, we’d be back at square one. No, I fed the coordinates for missile alpha to target missile beta, beta to target gamma, gamma to target delta. You get the picture?”

“So what did epsilon target?” 

“Alpha.”

“Very basic,” she conceded with a grin.

“Almost too easy. I was about halfway through the main tunnel though when the facilities’ auto-destruct sequence timed out. The passageway began to collapse, I think I got hit with a chunk of rock and then the lights went out. Lucky for me, Lee must have already been at the cave entrance with a landing party. He told me later that Clark managed to get Kowalski back to the beachhead and was on the radio to Seaview when that first shot sounded. Clark thought it was an explosion, the echo must have been tremendous, and reasoned that either we were dead or Banter was.” He became very quiet and for a few minutes did not utter another word until at last he took a deep breath and slowly let it out then spoke very softly: “I have replayed the events over and over. Yes, I could have rescued Paul but at what price: the lives of hundreds and thousands of innocent people? I couldn’t make that choice. I couldn’t make that sacrifice. That boy bought me precious seconds, time that I needed to change the firing sequence to self-destruct. Banter killed him and I could have stopped him, yes, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. Maybe I was playing God. Maybe my decision was wrong…” His voice trailed away to nothing. 

Seeing the undisguised anguish on his face, Kate moved closer to him. Placing a hand on his shoulder: “Harry, you can’t live with this kind of guilt. You can’t continue to blame yourself.”

He turned sharply. “Lives were dependent upon me. I made a choice, I sacrificed a life...” 

“To save more lives. You didn’t have a choice.”

His fist slammed against the cushioned sofa arm. “I did have a choice, damn it! I made a decision to let that boy die. He depended on me; he looked to me, begged me to save him and I failed.”

“Failed? Harry, you’ve set the bar so high for yourself, it’s impossible to live up to it.”

His voice softened noticeably: “But I have to.” Reaching into his breast pocket and taking out the pack of Viceroys and matches, he paused. 

Kate watched him carefully as he lit the cigarette, gave the match a brisk shake then leaned his head back in a savoring, therapeutic drag. 

Unaware his actions were under such scrutiny, he continued, “I hold lives in my hands. If I falter, if I fail, it doesn’t just affect me. It affects every single life dependent upon me.”

“But you can’t live with that kind of infallibility,” she countered. “No one can. You’re human; you have to expect to make mistakes at some point.”

He stared down at the lit cigarette, his eyes transfixed by the glowing ember. “I can’t expect it; not when lives are at stake. Yes, it happens but I have to do all I can to prevent it.” 

He slowly lifted his eyes to hers and in one look, she could see the weight of every human life bearing down on him. It was all becoming painfully clear to her: the pressure and responsibility he lived with every day were insufferable and now they were taking their toll on him. 

Even without the benefit of admiral’s stars, Harry Nelson was a leader, a beacon that others followed and depended upon. But what happened when he needed a guiding light? Who could he depend upon? A man could only bear so much before he started to bend and break under the stress.

**~oOo~**

He finally rolled into the office at a quarter past noon looking, as Angie would later tell Lee, ‘a little green around the gills’.

Falling heavily into his chair, he thought about the last week. He knew he hadn’t been himself lately. The Institute, the _Seaview_ …the exploration of knowledge no longer held the glint of excitement they once did. 

He was tired. Tired of the pressure, of the knowledge that more often than not, he was the difference between the life and death of the crew. That might not have been so bad if, more often than not, he hadn’t gotten them into danger in the first place. 

He was fifty years old. Maybe it would be best to leave this to younger men; to men like Lee Crane who had much more sense than he seemed to possess, to men who weren’t so driven by their quest for knowledge and new discoveries that they ignored not only the danger but those who tried to warn them. God only knew how many times Lee had saved the crew. If it hadn’t been for him…well, he’d rather not think about it. Lee was definitely the glue that held _Seaview_ together—especially when he, her own designer, seemed intent on tearing her apart. 

He remembered what seemed like ages ago: the days when he thrived on discovery, on the unknown realm of the undersea world and on keeping that realm free from harm. But somewhere along the way the lines became blurred. Increasingly, he was being called upon to step outside those parameters, to face the human element, to face the monsters of man’s own design and they were infinitely more deadly than anything the sea had thrown his way. 

Resting his head against the back of the chair lighting up a cigarette and ignoring the piles and piles of reports that desperately needed his attention, he came to a conclusion. Yes, it would be radical and yes, it would cause tremors through the Navy and the scientific community but it was what he wanted. 

At least that’s what he kept telling himself.

The telephone on his desk rang loudly, startling him and making him jump. Picking up the receiver: “Nelson,” he said simply.

“Harry? Ted Carter. We’ve got a job for you and your crew.”

Nelson listened half-heartedly as Carter described the immediate task on hand: locate the reason for increasingly warm waters off the Galapagos Islands. 

“Right now, the temperatures are about twenty degrees above normal and rising an average of twenty-five percent every day. All data seems to be pointing to some kind of fissure but we can’t locate the damn thing.” He paused, expecting Nelson to chime in enthusiastically. When he didn’t, he prompted, “So, how about it Harry, will you do it?”

“No, Ted, I can’t.”

The line went momentarily dead as Carter absorbed the words. He expected Nelson to jump at the chance; ‘no’ was never a consideration. “Harry, I don’t think I heard you correctly. Did you say you can’t do it?”

“That’s what I said.”

If the man wanted him to beg, plead and grovel, he would. “Harry, please, we have no other options. Already we’re starting to see a degradation of sea life and if we wait much longer, it’ll be too late. I’m afraid we’ve already lost precious time. If anyone can find the source of that heat, you can.”

“Ted, I said I can’t do it but I didn’t say _Seaview_ couldn’t.” He took a heavy pull on the cigarette then casually flicked a long ash into the ashtray.

“You have someone else in mind?”

“Yes, I do: you and Captain Crane. You can handle this on your own and Lee is more than capable of getting you there.”

“The team asked specifically for you, Harry. If it’s a matter of funding…”

“Money isn’t the issue. I’m just not going to be available.”

Carter still argued, “The boys aren’t going to like this. I’m not nearly as qualified as you and I don’t know the first thing about…”

“The boys will still have Seaview and you’ll do fine. Besides, Dave Schiller, one of the finest geologists Caltech ever produced, is here at the Institute and I’m sure he’d love to tag along.”

Carter was skeptical but he did know Schiller, if by reputation only. “Well, if you’re sure I can’t change your mind.”

“I’m sorry, Ted, but you can’t.” His voice remained firm, steady and unwavering. Despite Carter’s continual urging, he never lost patience, never let anger or irritation creep into his voice. He felt amazingly calm. “Look, I’ll talk to Captain Crane, we’ll work out the details and give you a call back.”

Dropping the receiver back on the cradle then reaching for the intercom: “Angie, see if you can track down Edith. If you can’t contact her at home, try the number at Lake Arrowhead. Tell her it’s urgent that I talk to her.” Rising from the chair, he stretched his back and rubbed his shoulder while his mind ticked through a mental list of things to do. Reaching back to the intercom: “Angie, do you happen to know Captain Crane’s whereabouts?”

“I believe he’s on the dock, sir”

“Have him report to my office at 1400.”

Angie raised a curious eyebrow. “Yes, sir. Is that all?”

“Have you located Edith yet?”

Rolling her eyes at his impatience, she kept her voice calm and even. “Not yet, sir. I was about to call when you buzzed me.”

His grunt was audible. 

Sifting through her Rolodex for Edith Nelson’s phone number, she couldn’t suppress her smile. It was good to have him back.

**~oOo~**

Lee knocked once and entered on command. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes.” Motioning the younger man to come in and shut the door: “I need to talk to you.” 

“Sure, what’s up?”

“I got a call from Ted Carter a little while ago. The boys at the Geological Survey want to borrow _Seaview_ to investigate the source of some unusually warm waters off the coast of the Galapagos.”

“Great! When do we sail?”

“Most likely Saturday morning. I told Ted we’d get back to him...if you’re in agreement.”

“I’m meeting with the Engineers about that mysterious vibration in the propeller as soon as I’m done here but I don’t anticipate a problem. _Seaview_ will be ready to go.” Expecting to be dismissed, he was surprised when the Admiral moved to stand by the window, balled hands thrust deep into his pockets, shoulders hunched forward. 

“There’s one more thing, Lee.”

Recognizing the Admiral’s body language at once and knowing he didn’t use that stance unless he was about to convey something he didn’t want to have to say, Lee shifted uneasily from one foot to the other and regarded him expectantly. “Yes?”

Acutely aware of the Captain’s anxious gaze, Nelson made the decision to come straight to the point: “I won’t be coming along. Dave Schiller will be joining you.”

“Not coming? Why not?” This had the markings of a purely scientific mission. Normally, the Admiral would be bursting at the seams to get started.

“I’m going away for a while.”

Relief manifested itself into a broad smile. “A vacation? Well, if anyone needs one, it’s you.”

Nelson hesitated then added, “It’s not a vacation.”

“What do you mean?”

Proceeding as if everything were crystal clear to the captain: “Don’t worry, I’m going to ask Edith to look after things here at the Institute. Your only real concern is _Seaview_.” He looked away momentarily as an infinite sadness clouded his eyes. “Take care of her.” 

Lee took a full minute to find his voice. Then, with an incredulous laugh: “You make it sound like you’re not coming back.”

Shifting his gaze to the window, he watched a lone Caspian tern swoop low over the water. “I don’t know if I am coming back…to _Seaview_ anyway.”

Letting the words seep in, Lee’s emotions ran the gamut: astonishment, confusion and finally anger. “Excuse me for being a bit obtuse but what exactly are you saying? What do you mean, you don’t know if you’re coming back?”

Pivoting on his heel and facing his friend: “Right now, I don’t know if I can come back.”

“Look, if it’s what that Talbot woman said…”

“It’s not that. Well, I suppose it is to some extent. That and a great many other things I need to sort through.”

The buzz of the intercom drove away any chance Lee had of pursuing this further. 

Welcome for the distraction, Nelson responded quickly, “Yes, Angie?”

“Admiral, I have Edith on line one.”

“Tell her to hold on.” Turning again to Lee, “I’m sorry for springing this on you so suddenly. It’s a decision I’ve been struggling with but I really think it’s the only answer.” He could tell by the look on Lee’s face that he neither understand nor agreed. But right now, Nelson wasn’t in the mood to talk about it further. He made his decision and he would stand by it. No amount of discussion could talk him out of it. 

Nelson picked up the phone, an open signal that their conversation had ended, while Lee quietly left the office. Walking blindly past a curious Angie, he headed straight out the door. Hearing his name being called but not acknowledging its source, he left the stifling confines of the building and went gratefully into the cool breeze. 

Sitting down on the warm concrete steps, any intention of meeting with the Engineers pushed away by the rush of thoughts racing around in his head, Lee tried to rationalize the Admiral’s decision. 

In some remote way, he understood. He didn’t like it nor did he agree but he understood. He had been through the same soul searching expedition many times but somehow, he never expected the Admiral to have self-doubts. The man loved his work; it was his life’s blood, his dream. Lee just couldn’t fathom how he would be willing to turn his back on everything and just walk away.

“Hey, didn’t you hear me calling you back there?” As soon as Chip Morton asked the question, he realized something was wrong. “You look like someone just sunk all your battleships. What’s up?” 

Lee got to his feet. “I, uh, just came from the Admiral’s office. We’ll be putting out to sea probably Saturday morning. You’ll need to make preparations to get us underway.”

“Sure thing, Skipper. Where to?” Noticing Lee’s preoccupation, Chip knew it was obviously going to be a battle to pull information from him.

“The Galapagos. It’s a purely scientific mission.” 

“That’ll make for a nice change.”

“There are going to be quite a few changes namely, the Admiral won’t be coming with us.”

“What? I thought he’d be bracing at the bit for something like this.”

“I know, I know.”

“Look, I may be way off target here but you look like someone just pulled the rug out from under you.”

“I guess you might say he did.”

“He? The Admiral?”

“Yes. He just told me he’s leaving.”

“Leaving?”

Lee let all his pent up exasperation filter out in one breath: “Yes, Chip, leaving! Leaving the Institute, leaving _Seaview_ , leaving California for all I know!”

Chip shook his head. “I don’t believe it. The Admiral leaving the Institute? I never thought I’d live to see the day.”

**~oOo~**

When Kate emerged from the bathroom, he was sitting on the edge of the bed half undressed, the receiver pressed against his ear and a cigarette perched in the corner of his mouth. Listening to the voice on the other end, his eyes followed her as she strolled past him.

She again wore the top to his pajamas, one side slightly off her shoulder. Even though it revealed nothing, it still managed to stimulate the very masculine recesses of his mind. It amazed him how a woman could make something so plain and simple, so seductive. 

He tried to keep his voice steady as her fingers lightly touched his back, settling on his shoulders, gently massaging the knotted muscles then snaking up the back of his neck and through his hair, sending pleasant shivers down his spine. 

Taking the cigarette from his mouth and keeping his voice as even as possible: “Look, Ted, it’s late. I understand your concerns but I’ve already given you my answer.” He paused, ignoring the man’s arguments, vaguely annoyed at having to reiterate what he had already said earlier that day. “No, I won’t change my mind. Call me in the morning and we’ll hash out the details with Captain Crane. Goodnight.” He leaned forward and replaced the receiver then mashed out the remaining cigarette. “Do you have any idea how much of a distraction you are?” 

Draping her arms around him, she kissed his neck then rested her chin on his shoulder. “Good, then the lessons paid for something.” 

“Oh,” he nodded skeptically, “I wasn’t aware there was a special school for temptresses.” He turned his head just enough to meet her lips.

“It’s very clandestine.” She stretched across the bed and propped herself up on one elbow watching him with an appreciative eye as he finished changing. “Ted Carter is with the Geological Survey, isn’t he?”

“He is.”

“Can I ask what that was all about or is it classified for Nelson eyes, or rather ears, only?” 

He stood in the doorway of the bathroom, toothbrush in hand, looking disturbingly virile in the bottom half of his pajamas. “He wants Seaview to investigate a possible fissure near the Galapagos.”

“And that would include you?”

He stepped back into the bathroom. “Normally,” he replied between rinses.

Lying on her stomach, idly tracing the carvings on the mahogany headboard with her finger: “Right away?” The brightness of her eyes clouded, replaced by a thin veil of disappointment.

Finishing in the bathroom, he switched off the lights and slipped into bed beside her. “Yes, right away. As early as Saturday morning.”

She rolled onto her side. “What did you mean by ‘normally’?” 

Propped up on one elbow, he toyed with the top button of her pajamas, slipped it free then moved to the second button. “Normally I would be going but this time I’m not.” 

His gaze remained fixed on her eyes while his fingers continued, unhooking the third and fourth buttons. Pushing aside the soft cotton fabric, his hand stroked the cool, smooth skin of her shoulder, moved slowly to her collarbone then trailed naturally to the valley between her breasts and lazily lingered. Caressing the supple, rounded curves of her right breast while brushing his fingers over the rigid nipple, he leaned forward and without words, brought his lips to hers. Parting, he nuzzled her neck, her earlobe, while his hand ventured further, exploring the confines of silk panties. 

“Harry?”

He pulled away, eyes heavy with the stirrings of his own arousal. “Huh?”

“Do you mean you’re not going?” He had piqued her interest and she wasn’t content to let the matter drop so easily. It wasn’t like him to turn down an opportunity like this. Ordinarily, he thrived on his curiosity and the inevitable danger it brought.

“Yes,” he said, eyes transfixed on her mouth, “I mean I’m not going,” His kiss was long, drawn out and intense, invoking an inescapable response. 

Taking a deep, composing breath, voice husky with desire: “But why aren’t you going?” 

Frustrated that his actions were being met with apparent indifference, he rolled onto his back and let out a slow, exasperated hiss. The prospect of a cold shower did not appeal to him at this late hour. Venting his irritation: “Because I’m not. Because I’ve decided…” He stopped abruptly. Combing his fingers through his hair, he cursed silently. He hadn’t wanted to tell her this way but now was as good a time as any. She would find out soon enough. “Because I’ve decided to leave the Institute.” 

Kate sat up quickly and, grabbing at the loose material, began refastening the buttons. “Harry, you can’t!” 

Tucking his arm behind his head: “Why not?” 

His calm demeanor was almost irritating. “The Institute, _Seaview_ , they’re your life, your dream. You can’t just throw it all away.”

“I don’t know that I’d phrase it quite like that. I’m leaving yes, but Edith can take over day-to-day operations until the board appoints a replacement. I’m recommending Derrick Copeland.”

“You’ve really given this some thought then,” she said, realizing he truly was serious. 

“I have, yes. I think it’s best for everyone involved if I step away. Philip Waldron has been after me for years to join the faculty at Caltech. I thought I might take him up on the offer.” 

“Do you really think you’d be happy?” she heard herself ask. Her mind seemed to be operating under a thick veil of disbelief.

“I would…eventually. Like anything else, it would take some getting used to.” He rolled onto his side and lifted himself up on one elbow. 

She rubbed her temple, still stunned by his revelation. This explained why he was so quiet during dinner, why he had spent the evening virtually locked away in his study. The thought had crossed her mind that perhaps he was purposely avoiding her; now she was sure he was.

“I hadn’t intended for events to transpire quite like this but,” he reached for her hand, taking the time to entwine his fingers with hers, “I think you’ve always known it’s been the Institute that’s kept us, kept me from any kind of a firm commitment. Well, that won’t be an issue any more. And I was thinking about a November wedding…if that’s all right with you?” 

Now she knew she had to be in the middle of some sort of wild dream. Staring at him as if he had grown another head, she found it difficult to corral all her running thoughts into one tangible response. He was obviously moving at rocket speed while she was still shifting out of neutral. 

Though her first impulse was to blurt out an emphatic yes, she had enough sense and self-control to not only hold herself in check but to also recognize that beneath a façade of decisiveness laid a very confused man. “Harry,” she began, formulating her words carefully, “there is nothing in this world that would please me more than to marry you but I really can’t say yes. Not with a clear conscience.” 

Confusion, disappointment and finally embarrassment crossed his face. He had never anticipated rejection.

“It’s not that I don’t love you, please understand that. It’s just that I don’t think you know what you want right now. I don’t want you to commit to something you’re not entirely sure about.”

“What do you mean, ‘not entirely sure’?” he asked testily. “Of course, I’m sure.” 

Aware that what she was about to say would incite something comparable to a world war, she threw aside sensibility, donned invisible armor and cast the first stone. “Do you honestly think you can be swept up by this…this…epiphany? Do you really think it’s going to solve all your problems? If you do, then you’re fooling yourself. You can’t run away from it. You can’t run away from the fact that Paul Candler is dead and that you chose saving millions of lives over his one life. You can’t purge this from your conscience simply by leaving; it’s going to follow you wherever you go. You’ve got to make peace with yourself, Harry.” 

His fist smacked the bed in frustrated anger. “I will not have either my actions or my frame of mind questioned by you, Edith, Captain Crane or anyone else for that matter! I’m the best judge of what I’m capable of!”

Her normally controlled temper flared, exposing itself in a scathingly even voice: “Oh, you’re right, Harry. I completely forgot I was speaking to the invincible Admiral Nelson. I also forgot what an impatient, obstinate, insensible, belligerent and self-righteous man you can be. Well, I’ve got news for you: there are a few people who care a great deal about you. Edith, Lee and I just happen to be the foolish few.” Abruptly, she picked up her pillow and got out of bed. “I’ll be on the sofa…again.” She headed for the door, aware that his jaw was still firmly set. 

Nelson gave little thought to her words. She was wrong, he was right and that’s all there was to it. He didn’t need anyone challenging his actions, least of all her. How could she or anyone else know what was best for him? It was his life; it was his decision. He was the best judge. He had stumbled yes, but he hadn’t fallen. And now he was fine. _So why are you still thinking so hard about it?_

Rolling onto his stomach, he punched the pillow several times and closed his eyes. But he couldn’t sleep. As hard as he tried, he just couldn’t clear his mind. The argument with Kate annoyed him. Not the words so much as the intensity with which she said them. He never expected her to react so passionately. Hell, he thought she’d be elated over his proposal. Wasn’t that what she always wanted: to get married? _Jesus, Harry, if you live to be a hundred, you’ll never understand women._

Hearing the rustle of leaves outside the window, she pulled the blanket up and thought about the evening’s unexpected turn of events. A part of her was sympathetic to his motivation and yet, a part of her couldn’t fathom what he was suggesting. He could never live within the same confines as most men, restrained by four walls and mundane tasks. He had poured his life, his money and all his energy into Seaview and the Institute. He lived for exploration, new discoveries and the boundless resources the sea offered. All one had to do was see him in his element to know that the ocean was where he was truly the happiest. As painful as it was for her to admit, he could never settle. It just wasn’t in him. She rolled onto her side and readjusted the blanket. _And if he weren’t so damn obstinate, he’d see that!_

After spending several frustrating hours tossing and turning, he found himself staring into the darkness unable to comprehend why the argument continued to trouble him. Normally, he gave little thought to a disagreement with Lee or Chip. But this was Kate. She wasn’t someone to be bullied or bluffed. She deserved better from him and maybe that was his problem: he knew it. Still, he wasn’t about to apologize. Rolling onto his shoulder with a little too much vigor, he felt the sharp, stabbing pain that would eventually subside into a dull, persistent ache. Now he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep.

**~oOo~**

A noise in the dark and her eyes flew open. Poking her head out from under the blanket, she could just see the silhouette moving in the darkness. “Harry?”

“Yeah, it’s just me.”

Allowing herself to breathe, she still had nightmares about Maxwell Briere and uninvited, early morning visitors.

“I didn’t mean to scare you. Just trying to find the aspirin.”

“In the kitchen by the sink.” 

“Thanks.” He padded off in that direction and a few minutes later, she heard the sound of clinking glasses and tap water. 

“Headache?” she asked when he wandered back into the living room.

“No, shoulder.”

She could just see him rubbing it, his thumb digging into the joint. “Come here.”

He hesitated then went. 

She sat up and switched on the light, temporarily blinding them both, then guided him onto the cushions next to her and began to gently massage the sore ligaments and muscle. “There’s so much scar tissue in here, I don’t know if this will do any good.”

He dropped his head and closed his eyes, relaxing to her seemingly magic touch. “Believe me, it feels much better.”

Working the joint with both hands: “Did you sleep on it wrong?”

Sleep? He laughed dryly at the thought. “Something like that.” 

She watched him flex his left hand and knew why he was doing it. “Your hand’s numb again, isn’t it?” She took his silence as his answer. “Harry, you’ve got to get this repaired. It’s a simple operation and it won’t keep you off…” she purposely didn’t finish the thought. 

He glanced sideways at her, knowing full well what she was about to say. “And it won’t keep me off _Seaview_. Now I suppose I won’t have any reason not to do it.”

“No, you won’t.” She hit a particularly sensitive spot and felt his body stiffen as he let out a low grunt. “Sorry.”

“You know, Edith said roughly the same things to me this afternoon that you said. Only since she’s my sister, she was a little more indiscreet in telling me exactly how I’d lost my mind.” He looked her squarely in the eye: “I’ve made a mess of this, haven’t I?”

Although it was on the tip of her tongue to say yes, she didn’t. “No, I just think you’ve been under a tremendous strain.” That’s really all she wanted to say about his decision at this point. Anything more and they would probably end up arguing again. “Does it feel any better?”

He gave his arm a few twists, turns and flexes while fully rotating his shoulder. “One hundred percent better, thanks.” He reached around her and switched off the lamp. “I don’t know about you but I’ve had a terrible night.”

“Yeah, mine’s not been much better.” She was leaning against him, her hand gently stroking the smooth skin of his back. “Why don’t we put this behind us for now?” 

“Kiss and make up?” He got to his feet then extended his hand to her and pulled her up.

“Yes, but not the kind of kiss and make up your thinking about. I’m too tired.” She followed him into the bedroom and dropped onto the bed. “So answer me one question: did your shoulder really get you up or was it just an excuse?”

“That’s two questions, by the way.” He waited as she snuggled against his side. “It was a little of both,” he answered gliding his hand along her hip just once before draping his arm around her. “There’s aspirin in the bathroom.”


	5. FRIDAY

She woke up alone in bed as the sun approached the high point in the sky. Only a trace of the smell of his aftershave remained in the bathroom and the towel, neatly folded and hanging on the rack behind the door, was nearly dry, signs that he had probably left early. On her way to the kitchen, beckoned by the smell of coffee he had so considerately left for her, she passed through the living room, something lying open on the coffee table catching her eye. She was positive it wasn’t there last night. 

Curious, she wandered over and picked up the book, silently reading the familiar passage: 

_It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat._

Harriman Nelson was looking for some kind of affirmation, something that told him what he did was right. ‘The Man in the Arena’ wouldn’t solve his problems but it was a step in the right direction. 

Holding onto the book tightly, she sunk against the sofa and let an immense sense of relief wash over her. He hadn’t given up after all.

**~oOo~**

Nelson left the house early and drove straight to Montecito. He wasn’t expected so he could only hope Father Timothy had time for him.

Leaving his car and crossing the street, he was struck by how out of place the church was. With its Gothic spire, stain glass and immense oak doors St. Thomas More was definitely an anomaly in an area where Franciscan Mission structures were much more common. 

Slowly climbing the front steps, he entered the vestibule and walked towards the marble basin. Dipping his fingers into the Holy Water and quickly making the sign of the cross, he hadn’t been to church in quite some time but old habits were never forgotten. 

Although he arrived during daily Mass, no one turned when he came through the squeaking door, allowing him to slip inside with relative anonymity. His hard-soled shoes on the uncarpeted stone floor echoed against the lofty ceiling while the faintly musty air took him back years, to his own childhood and Sunday services with his family. Slipping quietly into a back pew after a hasty genuflect and cross, he was immediately transported into a realm of tranquility like he hadn’t known in a long time.

Sitting in the serene calm, a rush of memories flooded back: mother in her finest dress trying to quiet baby Edith, father looking proud with his family around him, older brother Frank making eyes at Theresa Connelly and a fidgeting young Harry trying to wriggle out of his tie while avoiding the adoring gaze of Margaret Maguire. With a reflective smile, he recalled his days in the boy’s choir and the havoc a starched white collar, clean neck and neatly combed hair wreaked on Sunday mornings. 

The smile quickly faded as another memory muscled its way to the forefront of his mind: the tenth of January, the day his brother, Frank, was laid to rest. That had always been a painful memory for Harry, losing his big brother, his childhood protector, so unexpectedly. Frank had readily been the family patriarch after the death of their parents many years ago, sacrificing his own ambition just to make certain that the gifted young Harry had every opportunity. With the death of Frank, the burden of seeing to Edith’s welfare had fallen heavily upon Harry’s shoulders. To say it had been a trial to care for a spirited young woman while spending a great deal of time at sea would have been an understatement. Yet, despite his shortcomings, Edith had become a very capable, very independent and very successful woman. They only had each other now, the last bastion of a once sturdy bloodline, and yet, how many times had he nearly left her? 

He was so lost in thought, he didn’t notice the dozen or so worshipers file past him; he didn’t respond to the tall man standing in the aisle waiting for him until he felt a hand on his shoulder. 

“Admiral Nelson, it’s good to see you again.” He thought he had recognized the lonely figure in the dark suit sitting in the back but his eyesight wasn’t what it used to be. 

“You said if I’d like to talk, your door is open,” he stammered, tapping his leg nervously and desperate for a cigarette. “Well, I need to talk. I need to find some answers.”

Grateful the Admiral had called upon his services, Father Timothy offered a comforting smile. “Why don’t we go around to my study?”

**~oOo~**

Kate snatched up the receiver before the phone could ring twice. “Hello?”

“Kate? Hi, it’s Lee Crane. Can I speak to the Admiral?”

“He left here early this morning. Isn’t he there?”

Lee hesitated before continuing. He was in danger of sounding alarm bells. “Well, no. He hasn’t been in all day. I thought maybe he just decided to spend a day, you know, thinking things out.”

She let out an exasperated sigh that carried over the phone line. “And here I thought he was working his way back,” she said, conveying her thoughts aloud. “Lee, I don’t suppose you’d let me buy you a cup of coffee?”

She had practically read his mind. “I think that would be a great idea but I’m buying. How does Hogate’s in half an hour sound?”

“I’ll see you there.”

**~oOo~**

Precisely one half hour later Lee Crane entered the small restaurant, removing his hat and scanning the sparse patrons until he saw the lone brunette in the back booth already sipping her coffee. Smiling in her direction as her eyes locked with his, he weaved his way around empty tables and slid in across from her.

Just as quickly as he had sat down, the waitress was at his side. “What’ll it be, Lee?” 

“Just coffee, Tina.” He smiled rather sheepishly and prayed his companion didn’t notice the parting wink and wiggle.

Watching the proceedings with an amused and curious yet stifled grin, Kate missed nothing. 

“I, um,” he cleared his throat, “we went out once or twice.”

Unable to contain herself further, she burst into soft laughter. 

It proved to be the perfect icebreaker, relaxing both parties and allowing them to talk freely about the past week and their common frustrations. By the time the waitress returned to refill their cups, Lee had finished recounting the meeting with Helen Talbot.

“That certainly explains a few things,” Kate was saying, recalling the episode in the restaurant as she added sugar to her coffee. “And makes me feel like a bit of a heel. I should have known there was something much deeper to all this. You should have seen the change that came over him when she called.”

“She’s been his most vocal critic for years. I used to think he viewed sparing with her as a sport but now that I know him a little better, I’ve come to realize that maybe it was the only way he could deal with her barbs.”

“Harry has a tender heart. He tries to hide it with his temper but…” Her voice faded into a warm, reflective smile. 

Lee thought about what she said, letting his mind drift back over the years, overlooking the instances when he had been so frustrated with the older man that he wanted to ring his neck and settling on the times where he was able to glimpse into that cracking outer shell. The Admiral had always been quick to restore the shell, never exposing any weakness for very long, and covering it with a renewed toughness. But it was enough that Lee knew what Kate meant.

Staring into the black liquid, “It’s not just her, you know,” she said unexpectedly. Then lifting her eyes to his: “Well, in some ways it is but I think she just reinforced whatever is truly bothering him. And before you ask, I’m not sure I know what that is.”

“Any guesses?” He had his own ideas; he just wanted to hear her thoughts.

She took in a deep sigh and slowly released it along with her thoughts: “One, I suppose. Harry’s greatest fear isn’t death. It’s failure. If he thinks he’s failed, which he does, he’s lost his control. And I don’t mean control over tangible things like you and I or Seaview and the Institute; I mean over himself, over his own actions and decisions.”

“You mean he’s questioning himself.”

“Exactly.”

Wiping away errant drops of cream before leaning forward on his elbows: “I think we’ve both come to similar conclusions.”

“He thinks he failed that young man. It doesn’t seem to matter that he had no other choice or that millions of people might have died had he not aborted those missiles.”

“What you said about failure is very true. Some of the worst disagreements we’ve ever had revolved around him not giving up, not wanting to fail.” 

Watching him settle back in the booth, eyes cast downward, finger idly tracing the rim of his cup, she had the distinct feeling there was much more left to say. She wasn’t about to interrupt.

“I always thought of the Admiral as virtually indestructible,” he began in a quiet voice. “I know he’s not but he’s been through so many close calls, so many times when the safety of the world came down to whether he pulled the green wire or the red wire. I’ve watched him stare down creatures from the depths of unimaginable nightmares without so much as a flinch, I’ve seen him find answers when none seemed to exist, I’ve seen him risk his neck and take the kind of punishment that would make a lesser man quit. And yet, he always seemed to bounce back. He’s lost crewmen before; he’s lost friends and colleagues. But this is different and I’m not sure I know why. He’s taking this much harder than I ever expected.” Feeling the strain of guilt at speaking so openly, he said no more.

Maybe he had spoken out of turn but it was easy to talk to Kate if for no other reason than she listened with genuine interest. He felt at ease in her company, like she was an old friend he had known for years and nothing more. 

Studying the man sitting across from her, seeing the sadness and remorse in the amber eyes, she suddenly realized how utterly blind she had been and mentally kicked herself for it. In the time that she had been talking to Lee, she had been so focused on Harry and his problems that she failed to see his taxing inner turmoil. That he was having difficulty reconciling Harry’s pending departure was a testament to the depth of their friendship. She wouldn’t have thought any less of Lee had he readily accepted the decision but knowing that he didn’t truly warmed her heart. Harry was lucky to have a friend like Lee Crane.

Breaking a long silence: “You know him better than anyone. How serious do you think he really is about this?”

It was her turn to look pensive. “Last night he was very serious but this morning, I’d like to think he’s having second thoughts. Of course, I also thought he went to the Institute this morning so that tells you how predictable he is and just how well I know him.”

“I can’t imagine him happy doing anything else. I can’t imagine me happy with him doing anything else.” With a short laugh and a fondness that came with old memories: “When I first came aboard _Seaview_ , just after John Phillips was killed, we were constantly butting heads about everything: the crew, the command, the color of the pencils on the plot table. We were like two goats fighting to be king of the hill but he was the Admiral so he always got his way. Finally, one day I’d had enough and decided I was going to let him have it, both barrels. I didn’t care if it meant my command, I just couldn’t take another minute of him countermanding my every order and questioning my decisions. Well, he stood there, arms crossed, giving me that look that withers weaker men while I just laid into him. After the smoke cleared, he got this huge grin on his face, I mean ear to ear, then he starts laughing, one of those gut busting laughs. I’m thinking, Jesus, my career is in the toilet and he thinks it’s funny? When he’d finally caught his breath he looks at me, gives me a punch on the arm and says,” he let his voice drop, trying to mimic Nelson’s rich baritone, “Welcome aboard, Captain!” 

Kate, eyes radiant with delight, laughed at his rather weak impression and the very vivid images his story painted.

“That whole time he had been goading me into standing up to him. I kept backing down until I hit my breaking point. But I earned his respect that day. He still countermands me and questions my decisions but not so obviously and not without reason.” A warm, thoughtful grin brightened his features. “I love the guy, Kate. I admire the hell out of him and I just can’t imagine _Seaview_ without him.” Eyes darkening quickly, “What if he does leave?”

“Someone told me not too long ago that he looked like he needed a friend. Maybe that’s the answer. Just be his friend and support whatever decision he makes. He’d do the same for you.”

Lee mulled over her response, slowly nodding his head in agreement. “Yeah, he would. He’s quick to disagree when it’s business but he’d never interfere with a personal decision.” He broke in to a broad smile that made his eyes glow. “Now, that doesn’t mean he would agree…” 

They were so caught up in conversation neither really noticed that twilight had descended, casting an orange-yellow glow on the western sky. The restaurant came alive, buzzing with activity as the evening dinner crowd took over. 

Lee glanced at his watch surprised at the length of time they had spent talking. “Well, as much as I’ve enjoyed this afternoon, I suppose I should get back.”

“That’s right, you’re sailing tomorrow.”

“Yes, bright and early.” Adding with a resigned sigh, “You know, I don’t know if I can get used to this. I spent practically the whole morning on the phone ironing out details with the rep from the Geological Survey. If that’s what the Admiral had to put up with, he can tolerate much more than I give him credit for. I know I blew my stack more than once today. And I’m going to have to spend the whole cruise catering to his whims. Before, the Admiral took care of those details: he took care of all the arrangements and kept the scientists occupied and away from the operation of the boat. Now I guess it’s my job. Dave Schiller is coming along but he gets seasick in a dinghy. He’ll probably spend the entire time in the head.” He shook his head and spoke with absolute resolve, “If he goes through with this, I swear I’m going back to the Navy. I just don’t have the patience to deal with these temperamental pain in the necks like he does.” Remembering too late that she was also a scientist, he grinned apologetically.

Kate stifled a chuckle. Lee was venting his frustrations, nothing more. She couldn’t blame him. He never asked for Harry’s job and now he was being thrown in feet first. He would do his duty and accept the responsibility as a favor to his friend. 

Regardless if Harriman Nelson were there or not, _Seaview’s_ job would never end especially if Lee Crane had anything to do with it. Kate could see it in his eyes, that same look of idealistic courage so prevalent in the picture of a young lieutenant commander, of a young Harry Nelson.

“Well,” she said with an almost whimsical sigh, “this place is really filling up and your friend keeps casting an eye in our direction. And this time she’s not winking.”

Lee felt his face redden. Leaving several bills on the table, including a very healthy tip, he picked up his hat and waited for Kate then taking her arm, escorted her through the crowded restaurant. Pausing by the door, waiting for an elderly couple to pass, he momentarily caught the eye of the buxom waitress and flashed the infamous Crane smile and wink, nearly causing her to slosh hot coffee in the lap of an unsuspecting patron. 

Emerging into the cool night air, they walked together to her car. “Thanks for the coffee and the conversation,” she said, unlocking the door.

“Thanks for letting me vent.” He held the door while she slid inside. “Do you think he’ll be there when you get back?”

“I hope so.” She took in a deep breath and let it out. And what if he wasn’t there? Did she have a plan B? “Take care, Lee. And good luck.”

“Thanks. I’ll take all I can get.” He closed the door and gave her a parting wave, then headed almost dejectedly towards his own car. 

He had enjoyed the time spent in Kate’s company but now reality was rushing in and bringing all his troubles with it. They hadn’t resolved anything; the Admiral was still leaving and in the morning, he was sailing with the world’s whiniest man. If this was someone’s idea of a joke, he wasn’t laughing.

**~oOo~**

Kate arrived back at the house shortly after dark. His car was parked along the curb but when she went into the darkened house, he was nowhere to be found. She didn’t have to think twice: she knew exactly where he’d gone.

Kate arrived back at the house shortly after dark. His car was parked along the curb but when she went into the darkened house, he was nowhere to be found. She didn’t have to think twice: she knew exactly where he’d gone. 

Picking her way along the well-worn path, letting the roar of the surf guide her way, she found a break in the barrier of dense underbrush and cast her eyes along the rocky shoreline. He stood alone on the beach, discarded jacket and tie draped over a rock, sleeves rolled up, standing at the ocean’s edge and silently tossing one stone after another into the water. Looking uncommonly ordinary, he could have been anyone, any man searching for himself in the ripples of the ocean. She saw his head turn slightly, his back straighten: he knew she was there. 

Warily making the trek down the steep incline, she stopped a few feet behind him. “I thought I might find you here. I hope you don’t mind the company.”

Not turning to greet her, his eyes remained fixed on the water. “The moon shines bright: in such a night as this, when the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees and they did make no noise, in such a night.” He slowly turned around. “How did you know I was here?”

“Just a hunch.” She maintained her distance from him. She could sense he needed space right now; the last thing she wanted to do was crowd him. 

A light reflective laugh escaped his lips as he tossed the remaining rocks into the surf then stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I suppose you’re wondering where I’ve been?”

The question begged to be asked but she remained silent. At least he was talking.

Looking back at the water: “Well, I drove over to Montecito…to talk to a priest.”

Although his answer was the last thing she expected, she gave no hint of surprise.

“I needed to know what I did was right.”

“Could he tell you?”

“I suppose so. He told me that I did what I thought was right and that’s all anyone can ask of a man.”

“Do you agree?”

“I think so.” He grew quiet, focusing on his own mental battle. Finally sharing his slightly disjointed thoughts: “I wanted to walk away,” he thought back to the contemplative moment at the stop sign and changed his mind, “no, to _run_ away from the Institute, from _Seaview_. I wanted to be as far away from the memories, from the failures, from everything.”

She suspected that was his motivation, his intent, but it was a relief to hear him admit it. 

Venturing forward, she came to stand beside him, linking her arm with his and gazing across the ocean with him, glimpsing the occasional twinkling light in the distance. “Harry, a long time ago, when I was doing postgraduate work, I attended a lecture given by a man whose ideas and enthusiasm were viewed as rather extreme in the staunch world of physics. I knew this man, I admired him but I remained skeptical. Probably because of who he was, I gave him a chance and, as I listened to his words, his vision, I was struck by the passion of his convictions and the fervor in his speech. It was obvious this was a man who knew exactly what he wanted out of life, a man who would never be content to sit idly by and watch others succeed around him. He was a man who would never be constrained by the word, ‘no’; he would always want to know why and how. But most importantly, I knew he was a man who felt so strongly about his ideals, that he would meet every challenge no matter what the consequences; he would tackle every obstacle regardless of the critics. Sometimes he would be right, sometimes he would be wrong, but he would never quit.” She turned to face him. “That man was you, Harry.”

Watching her with a studied intensity, he slowly absorbed every word she had said. He remembered the lecture and he remembered that, as many in attendance walked out, she had been one of the few who remained. Deeply humbled, he never knew of the profound effect he’d had on her that day. 

“You’re the man in the arena, the man who fights and toils, who knows victory and defeat. You can’t run away because it’s who you are. It’s etched in your character like indelible ink.” Taking his hands in hers: “Just remember that you’re not infallible, that you can’t always control the outcome. Sometimes you will falter under the weight of responsibility; you have to accept it and we have to expect it.” She took a breath, aware of his almost overpowering silence. He was, if nothing else, receptive to her; she could see it plainly on his face. “I know you’re having a difficult time reconciling Paul’s death but I wouldn’t expect you to react any other way. I’ve known you long enough to realize that each time a man dies, a piece of you dies with him. But you keep those emotions suppressed, you internalize the stress and eventually, like now, it takes a toll on you.” 

Steel blue eyes so focused on her, momentarily looked away. The advice of Father Timothy, echoed eerily by Kate, ran through his mind: _You can’t change the past because the past is who you are. Because of the past, you will always be who you are. You cannot discard your identity and try to be someone else._ The sound of her voice brought his gaze back to her.

“You’re human Harry, you have compassion. Maybe you view that as a weakness but when it all boils down, when you strip away the admiral’s stars, the reputation, the Institute and Seaview, you’re simply a man who hurts, bleeds, feels, laughs, loves and errs…just like the rest of us. I know you’ve got to make your own choice but please know that whatever you decide, we’ll all support you—Lee, Edith and myself. Don’t ever think you have to face this alone.”

He weighed her words heavily, compared them mentally with what the priest had told him and eventually began to understand. For the first time he could recognize that he did have limitations; that he wasn’t, as she had reminded him, invincible. His burdens were considerable but not something he could eliminate on his own nor shoulder alone. And standing before him was the one person more than willing to help, to listen without passing judgment. He was blind not to see it before. 

In a soft voice, “I won’t change, you know that?”

“Yes,” she agreed, “I know that.”

“I’ll always be impatient, obstinate, insensible and self-righteous,” he said with a glint of a smile, echoing the words she had said not so long ago.

“You forgot belligerent,” she reminded him.

He nodded. “Belligerent.”

“I don’t want you to change, Harry. All those things, they’re part of you; part of the man I fell in love with. I can’t pick and choose the qualities I like and discard the rest. I love you for who you are and I accept everything that comes with it: the imperfections, the scars, the worries, the arguments, the long absences apart and the fleeting moments together.” 

He stood silent, gazing at her with genuine affection, then looked away, staring again at the white foam rushing along the smooth sandy beach. “I’m fooling myself and I know that now. You’re right; it is in me. I can’t run away from the person I’ve become, from what I’ve created, from the responsibility. I can’t push it off on Lee or Chip or Edith…or you.” Blue eyes burning with a renewed intensity, he spoke with convincing determination: “But I can’t change what’s inherent in me either. I’ll always fear failure; I have to. If I don’t, how many others will die? I can’t take that chance. 

“I made a commitment to myself, to others, and I’ll see it through to the end. This is the course I’ve chosen for my life. Yes, it’s been and will continue to be a difficult road and yes, most of the time the weight is oppressive, the pressures are overwhelming. I’ll always have the Helen Talbot’s looking over my shoulder, waiting for me to fail, calculating and second-guessing my every move. But I can’t turn my back on it; I can’t quit. I have to face the dangers, the distractions, the critics and everything else thrown my way. And I have to succeed.” 

Studying the set, determined expression, listening to the words tumble convincingly, honestly, Kate gained a clear understanding of the drive that consumed him. More importantly, she realized he wasn’t telling her all these things; he was telling himself. 

“I also have to expect that occasionally I’ll stumble but when I do, I can only hope that you’ll be around to keep me from falling.” 

She turned to face him, her eyes bearing the deep, unrepentant love she felt for him. “I’ll be here whenever you need me. You can count on it.” 

He broke into a relaxed smile and without words, took her by the hand, stopping momentarily to pick up his jacket and tie, then led her up the path to the top of the cliff. They paused to look out over the harbor, at the twinkling lights of the point that reflected in a kaleidoscope of color on the dark water. Beckoning her to him, they embraced under the clear, crescent moon. Her mouth was warm and pliable and when she slid her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his, he felt a contentedness he wished would never end. When at last they drew apart, she gazed so deeply into his eyes that for a moment he felt as though she were looking directly into his unguarded soul. And he didn’t mind at all. 

On that deserted tract of road just above an isolated stretch of beach, he realized just how much he truly loved her and how unbelievably easy it was to bare his soul to her. He could drop all pretenses and protective barriers and just be Harry Nelson. It would always be difficult for him though. He had been Harriman Nelson, officer in the US Navy, for so long, he couldn’t immediately adjust. But she was infinitely patient with him, never placing demands she knew he couldn’t fulfill, never expecting him to be more than he was. She understood him, forgave his imperfections and more importantly, loved him unconditionally and without regrets.

Standing together, her head against his shoulder, they gazed into the serene wonder of the quiet night. Feeling an inner calm that had long been absent, he felt as though all the tension, all the angst had finally drained from his body and for one brief moment his entire life seemed like the most uncomplicated thing in the world.


	6. SATURDAY MORNING

Chip touched Lee lightly on the arm, motioning with a nod of his head towards the loading dock. “Looks like he made it after all.”

Watching Admiral Nelson emerge from the dark coupe, travel bag and briefcase in hand, Lee Crane let the immense relief he felt manifest itself into a broad smile. 

 

Harriman Nelson was genuinely enthused. After a long, tempestuous week, the twinkle had finally returned to his eye; the fire had returned to his soul. He was once again ready to take on the world and everything it threw at him.

Kate met him as he came around the front of the car, his hat in her hand. “You might need this.” 

“Thanks,” he said with a sheepish smile. Slowly turning to look out over _Seaview_ , he casually asked, “So where do we go from here?”

She shrugged, “Well, I return to San Diego and the Center and you’re off to sail the seas.”

Coming back around to face her, he rolled his eyes almost whimsically. “I was really thinking beyond all that.”

It was impossible to conceal her amazement. “You mean you were actually thinking in terms of something more tangible…like a relationship?” 

He nodded, “We tried it once…”

“And failed miserably.”

Jutting out his bottom lip, he once again gazed at his submarine. He had something on his mind, something that was knotting up his stomach, something that he desperately wanted to say but expressing his emotions to someone he loved was more difficult than he ever imagined. “Kate, I know it’s taken me a long time to say this,” he said at last, “but I really do want…need you in my life.” 

She understood how difficult it was for him to say those words, to say what he was truly feeling. The thought that he had even made the effort brought a smile to her lips. “You never cease to amaze me, you know that?”

“I pride myself on my unpredictability,” he remarked offhandedly. 

She could tell by his obvious unease, his fleeting glances across the water, his avoidance to her direct gaze, that there was still something else he wanted to say. 

“You know,” he began, flexing his left hand nervously as he spoke, “I’ll be back in a few weeks.” He fixed his eyes on hers. “I was hoping you’d be here.”

She flashed a coy smile. “Is that an invitation?”

Feeling a little more at ease, he brushed away the loose strands of hair from her face, vaguely aware that his every action was under the watchful eye of his crew. “It is.”

“Are you thinking of stumbling again?”

Amusement lit his features: “I might make a point of it.” 

Adopting a serious tone: “Please, let’s not do that again.” Warmth radiated in her eyes, betraying her demeanor, “You know I’ll be here. Besides, something tells me we have a lot to discuss.”

“Yes, we do.” He leaned forward, kissing her deep and slow, conveying the immense affection he felt for her. Pulling away, he straightened himself to his full height, set his hat firmly on his head and cleared his throat. “That was probably not a good idea.”

Smiling knowingly, she squared his hat and let her gaze linger on his. “Be careful out there.”

“I’m always careful,” he countered with a boyish grin as he turned on his heel and headed for the long ramp and the fifty-two stone steps that lead to the main dock. Stopping suddenly, he swung around sharply. “After all,” he called back, “I’m Admiral Harriman Nelson…”

“And you’re invincible!” she finished with a laugh.


End file.
